Ian’s apparent affinity for girls who drank liquor straight up was mildly disconcerting. He set four shot glasses on the bar and filled them. We toasted on the first shot, and I downed the rest of them, barely pausing to breathe. I welcomed the burn as the alcohol slid down my throat.
“You want to leave your stuff with me?” His calculating smile made the offer sound more propositional than friendly.
“Thanks, but I’m not staying long.”
The bar was packed, and I was taking up prime real estate for would-be drinkers. They were pushing, bodies closing in, elbows and arms, nudging and shoving. Despite the medication and vodka, the close contact still made me uncomfortable. Ian moved on to the next patron, so I gave him a wave and left.
A familiar song blasted through the speakers, the bass vibrating in my bones. Connor had hated this kind of music. He thought it was too aggressive. But our conflicting taste in music—and nearly everything else—was no longer an issue. I could listen to whatever I wanted now. The crushing guilt that always followed this train of thought made it hard to breathe, the effect of the pill already wearing off before the alcohol had even hit my bloodstream and dulled my senses. I moved through the bar, feeling less and less at ease with the sheer volume of physical contact.
Connor’s face flashed through my mind, at first the way I remembered him, but then an uninvited memory floated around the edge of my consciousness and came clear. I had been trying to find a way out, choking on smoke and fumes. I’d found Connor when I’d been sifting through the dead. Everything beautiful about him had been broken. When I blinked, the world was blurred, a fusion of present and past.
The noise, the people, the memories; it was all too much to filter. As the booze clouded my thoughts, I couldn’t separate what was inside my head from what was in front of me. The bar didn’t seem to be a good idea after all.
I needed to get home. I pushed against the flow of bodies, the glaring red Exit sign a beacon for my freedom. Halfway there, someone caught my arm. Fingers wrapped around my biceps and held me in place.
“Hey there, pretty thing, where you headed?” he slurred, spit showering my face as he moved in closer. He was tall, his over-gelled hair spiked into a horrific faux-hawk. His wiry arms were littered with haphazard tattoos. The word patience was misspelled on his forearm, the i in the wrong place.
“I’m leaving.” I tried to shake free, but his grip tightened.
“Want some company?” His breath reeked of beer.
“I’m good, thanks.” I pried at his fingers. “Care to let go?”
His cheek brushed mine, coarse stubble unpleasant as he yelled in my ear. “Aw, come on, you know you wanna party.”
Either he was too drunk to notice that I wanted to get away from him, or he didn’t care. Regardless, my ability to maintain composure evaporated with the unwelcome touch. Today had already been too much. Red-hot rage flared, bubbling up like lava through my veins. Without weighing the consequences, I slammed my fist into his throat. It had the desired effect; he sputtered and choked, releasing me. He coughed out a vulgar expletive.
I spun around, and familiar artwork caught my attention back at the bar. The hand attached to the colorful arm held a beer, poised to tip. Twin rings pierced the left side of a set of full lips. Pale blue eyes met mine, filled not with shock but something closer to fascinated concern. But before he could react, I turned and shoved my way through the crowd until I burst through the door and was spat out onto the street.
The heat gave way to cool wind and a flash of lightning zigzagged through the sky. I shivered and pulled my hoodie on. My hip protested as I broke into a jog, but the ache kept me grounded. The growing discomfort muted the effects of the meds and the liquor. It had been stupid to think I could manage being inside a packed bar. Confined spaces and crowds posed too much of a reminder of my experience. By the time I got home, my hip was screaming with pain, and I permitted myself one painkiller to take the edge off.
Sleep came eventually, and with it the memories I tried to suppress.
*
A thunderous noise shocked me awake. Disoriented, I looked around. Connor wasn’t beside me. The seat-belt sign was flashing, and a voice crackled through the speaker system. Panic set in as I buckled the restraint, craning to look for Connor. He’d only gone to the bathroom or something. He couldn’t be far.
The lights flickered, and the belt at my waist tightened painfully. Bile rose in my throat, and I gritted my teeth against the wave of nausea.
“Connor?” I called out. Fear overrode every other emotion as we were all subjected to another violent heave.
I looked to the couple on the left. They were holding each other’s hands tightly. Several emotions passed across the man’s face until sorrow settled in his eyes. Before everything went black, he turned to his wife and told her how much he loved her.