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Oh. My. God. I know it is wrong to tell your own Mom to go fuck herself but I’m this fucking close to doing it… While the fact that I need a new phone is technically not her fault since I’m the one who threw mine at the wall – it was her fucking text that pissed me off in the first place. She doesn’t understand that not only do I not want to hear anything more about Brent and Eliza but it fucking hurts me every time she brings them up. She doesn’t get it. Or she doesn’t care. I’m not sure which is fucking worst.

And now she is lashing out at me for taking off without telling her. It has been almost a month now and she is still bitching about it. You’d almost think she cares about me more than the embarrassment I’ve caused her. Almost. But that’s what is really the concern here and she is not fucking fooling anyone. So her last text was spiteful and had one sole purpose – to fucking hurt me.

She was successful.

Brent and Eliza are engaged. Fucking engaged. Six weeks ago I was living with the man and thought he was my forever after. Now he is marrying the woman who was my best friend. My best friend for more than ten years. And my own mother prefers them over me. She has to or she wouldn’t keep picking at this open wound that used to be my heart.

I don’t work today but I’m going to the bar all the same, except today I’m a customer. I’ll take a bus as close as I can, then walk the rest of the way. That’ll save my money for cab fare home and as many half price drinks as my body will take. I feel like having myself one hell of a fucking pity party and so that is exactly what I am going to do. And maybe I’ll run into Finn and Alistair which would be a welcome distraction. I’ve started to look forward to seeing them and am disappointed the nights that they don’t stop by the bar. What the fuck is that about? I like them both beyond the obvious of how incredibly gorgeous they both are, I mean it is fucking ridiculous. I know they’re both ex-military which explains their bodies – which are WOW but they’re also just… pretty. They look like they should be on the cover of some surfing magazine. But they’re also each funny in their own way, each really smart but about different things and I have gotten myself off repeatedly thinking of both of them. I’m so pissed at Brent for moving on so fucking fast but am I any better? I’m so fucking confused.

I’ll drink to that. Repeatedly.

I don’t go out of my way to ‘dress to impress’ but instead wear clothes I’m not worried about ruining should I puke later. Who am I kidding? I’m going to puke later. I want to feel physically as awful as I do emotionally, and I know that is going to take a lot of alcohol. I’m hoping the new pain will help drown out the other. Flip flops, jeans and a long sleeve shirt with cut-out shoulders and I’m good to go. I leave my hair loose and long but take a couple of hair-ties on my wrist in case I need to hold my hair back. You know – for when I puke. My makeup is minimal as it always is and I’m out the door.

It takes me more than an hour to get to the bar, but it is still early in the afternoon when I do. Marley is working and is surprised to see me, especially when I take a seat at the bar and order the first of many shots.

“Hey hon, what in the hell are you doing in this place on your day off? I’d be avoiding it like the plague,” she jokes. She’s right, normally I would be too. But as an employee, the drinks are half-price so in my price range. I order another and tell him to keep them coming. I can feel her watching me carefully. “Uh, hon, everything okay?” Another drink.

“It will be Mar, thanks for asking. Honestly, I’ll be fine so please don’t worry. But if I may ask one favour?” Shit better do this while I am still thinking straight. I reach into my pocket and pull out a piece of paper which I hand to her, along with my credit card. She nods yes as she takes the items. “When I pass out can you please throw me into a cab? My address is on the paper and my card is to pay for it. Thanks.” Then I turn back to the bar and have another drink. I should be feeling these by now, or more anyways. I’m heavy – ok, fucking fat so maybe it’s going to take more booze for someone my size? Yeah. That makes sense. Ok. I need more booze. Gary is working the bar and is slower than fucking grass growing so I get him to just leave me the bottle. Another drink.

If he is already marrying someone else, he had to have fallen out of love with me a long time ago and has been lying to me every time he said it. Another drink. Or he doesn’t really love Eliza and it is a rebound thing. That kind of makes me feel better in a mean, sadistic way which in turn makes me feel worst. Another drink. No, they’ve been sleeping together for awhile, so odds are they’ve had feelings for one another for awhile too. Odds are he hasn’t loved me for a long time and just didn’t fucking tell me. Another drink. He was happy to continue living in my apartment and fucking me in my bed though. Another drink. That part was fucking okay. Another drink.

And Eliza. I’ve told her everything. She was my ‘sister’ and I loved her like family. Another drink. Ironically, she’s the one I want to call, and it is her shoulder I want to cry on. It has always been her at my side and we’ve been there for one another in good times and bad. Another drink. Always. She’s my best friend. Was. Now she’s the woman who was having an affair with my boyfriend and lying to my face about it. Another drink. I feel like I don’t even know who she really is – like the entire time she was wearing some kind of fucking mask or disguise or something. Fuck! I have two more drinks and I still can’t get the foul taste out of my mouth that thoughts of her and Brent leave behind.

Then my own mother joins then Brent and Eliza Fan Club. Christ. What the hell is that about? Another drink. I can feel the anger starting to leave me so either the alcohol is working, or the depression is winning – either way, I like the numbness. Now if only my brain would stop with the same thoughts over and over again… I need more alcohol.

At some point Marley tries to get me to eat but I’m not interested. Hah! See Mom? I can and do say no to food once in a while, for Christ’s sake. I’m having a hard time pouring and I think I’m getting more on the bar top than I am in my glass. Shit. I think the booze might finally be working. When I stand up, I know for sure it is because nothing makes sense. Up is down and right is left but at the same time I feel like I’m balancing on a ball. Oh shit. Fairly sure I’m falling.

Nope, I’m passing out.

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