90: Self Pity

Jesse

     'That's it, let her go, dumbass,' my inner voice sneers at me as I watch Marie drive away.

     She's mad as hell at me, and she wanted to leave. So, I let her leave.

     I run my hands down my face with a sigh as I wearily walk into my empty house. My heart painfully pangs in my chest, and I swallow back the tears when I consider just how very empty my house is.

     What was I thinking?

     Was I actually trying to get Marie pregnant?

     'You're no better than those women that pull that stunt.'

     I snort quietly while staring at my floor, agreeing with my inner voice, and it continues scolding me while I walk into my kitchen, my flip-flops echoing on the hardwood floors.

     'Have you lost your fool mind, Jesse? Imagine meeting her father for the first time only for him to find out she's also pregnant.'

      He'd kill me. He'll likely try to kill me anyway. He certainly would if he could read my thoughts when I look at his daughter… his daughter who hates me.

     With a small cry, I reach up into my cabinet and pull down a bottle of Jack.

     'Sure… That's the way to handle this. Yeah, that'll get rid of the pain,' I hear sarcastically in my head.

     "Shut the fuck up," I tell it aloud then shake my head at my insanity. Taking the bottle, I trudge into my living room and flop myself down on the couch.
      I spend the entire rest of the afternoon getting drunk off my ass. I watch the sun set before passing out on my couch. In the middle of the night, I stagger into the kitchen and get a 'few' beers out of the fridge. I drink every single one before passing out again.

      The next morning, I hear a knock at the door, the solid thunking making its way through my fogged mind. With a whining grunt, I stumble as I get up to see who it is. Bile rises in my throat before I make it to the living room doorway, and I quickly swallow it back, wincing as it burns its way down.

     "Yeah?" I ask in a bleary voice, trying to focus my eyes in the bright sunlight. Why does it have to be a beautiful day?

     "Jesse? Are you all right?" I hear Erin ask, and I garble a wordless response. She must have given up trying to figure out what I said because she asks, "Is Marie here?"

     "Nope," I tell her laconically and try to focus on her. "She lefffft." Yesterday? Yeah.

     "Maybe I should go and get Bryce," she ponders after standing there quietly and thinking goodness knows what.

      I decide that standing up is a bad idea and sit down on the floor in my foyer. I'm dimly aware of Erin watching me when I figure that lying down on the floor would be even better. Erin still waits for a response.

     "Do wha'ever the fffuck you want," I mumble to my best friend's girlfriend's sandals. They turn and start walking across the front porch. Suddenly, I think of something. "Hey," I say quickly to get her attention, and she turns around from where she'd been going down the porch stairs, "yer cousin's gettin' married, ain't she? Ta thet basterd."

      Everybody gets married but Jesse… because he's a dumbass.

      "Yes," she answers me softly.

      I like how the floor feels cold on my cheek. "An' Marie's tore up aboudit."

      "Is that why she's not here and you're drunk?" Erin asks, her voice sounding soothing, and she squats in front of me.

      Rolling away and putting my back to her so she doesn't see, I answer, "Yes… and no." Then I start bawling.

      Marie doesn't want me. She's never wanted me. Why would anyone want me? She's always told me she needed time, that she didn't wanna be in a relationship, but I thought I knew better how to make her feel better after all that crap she went through. Huh, wrong. Then, after that dumbass decision the other night, no wonder she left me. I'd leave me too.

      In the midst of my embarrassing display, I feel Erin lightly holding my shoulder.

      I try to brush her off, saying, "No, Erin. I'm fine."

      "No you're not. I'm going to go get Bryce."

      "What fer?" I ask dejectedly and sniff.

      She pauses for a moment before answering, "Well, to get you up off the floor, for starters."

      "Floor's comferble. I'm fine."

      "I'll be right back." Her voice sounds like she's trying to console me with the knowledge that my best bud is about to see me curled up on the floor and crying like a baby.

      By the time I have enough wits about me to say something to stop her, she's gone. I clumsily work at drying my face before forcing myself to get up and crawl to the couch. Bad enough that Erin saw that. Only seconds separate the time from me getting my sorry self lying down on the couch to Bryce and Erin letting themselves into my house.

      Bryce walks into my living room, and I do my best to face him as he scolds, "Holy shit, Jesse. It's only ten in the morning for fuck's sake!" I lay my arm across my eyes to block out the sun, but I can still see out of a small crack along my elbow. I watch Bryce as he picks up an empty bottle.

      Erin quickly walks out of the room as I groan a response.

      I'm gonna throw up, I realize.

      "Good thinking," Bryce says, I guess to Erin, and he shoves a mixing bowl near my face as I curl up and retch into the thing. I'm dimly aware of Erin holding her hand over her mouth like she's trying to keep herself from doing the same.

      "I'm going outside," she tells us. Bryce is used to vomit, mostly. Owning a bar, someone hurls at least two to three times a week in the joint. Sometimes nightly. It depends on the season. Most of the time, they'll make it to the bathroom, but there's always the few that don't.

      "Better?" he asks, and I moan while going face first into the couch. My head spins from all my recent movements. "I'll go rinse this then."

      Before I know it, he's back and asking, "Mind telling me what the fuck this is about?"

      "I'm drunk, no shit, Bryce. S'not th' firs' time you seen me like dis. An' who're you ta talk? You ain't got no right," I slowly growl at him. Just let me die. She'll never forgive me.

      "You know you're hard for me to understand when you get like this," he tells me, meaning my drawl.

      "Then piss off," I say as crisply as I'm able.

      "Not going to happen after what Erin told me."

      I groan. Tattletale. "Me an' Marie hadda fight," I grudgingly tell him. Then, I say quickly, "I'm gonna frow up ag'in."

      He gets up and hurriedly comes back with the bowl he used earlier, and he only just barely makes it back in time to save my floor. Then, he goes to wash it again. When he comes back, I turn my head and see him sitting on the coffee table.

      "She did a flyin' kick right inta ma face. Ot'er then it hurtin' like hell, it wuz awesome… an' thet wuz af'er she tried ta break ma jaw." I giggle a little in spite of my misery.

      Bryce blinks with wide eyes a few times before he says, "Shit. What did you do?"

      I sigh. "Tryta 'pologize."

      "For what?!" he asks in a higher-pitched voice.

      I purse my lips a second as I groggily consider my best friend. Sometimes, I wonder if he thinks of himself as a therapist. He's better with other people's problems. I guess all that time as a bartender caused it. He'd be pissed off if I told him that.

      Shrugging, I go ahead and tell him, "Tryin' ta get 'er pregnent." I roll over to face the back of my couch, not wanting to see his reaction. I've let the whole world down. "Don't tell 'er, even if she's figgered id out herself."

       Admitting out loud what I'd wanted to do causes a knot to form in my stomach that has nothing to do with the alcohol. What was I thinking?!

       Bryce stays quiet while I close my eyes and remember how wonderfully Marie stepped in and helped with Jeremy and Adele and how, for a few moments, it felt like we were a family. Now, I want that feeling back so bad it hurts.

       I wanted to make it real, but that's gonna be impossible now. I pushed her to her breaking point, and she left in tears. A few tears of my own silently escape when I think about what I did to her.

       My friend acts like he chooses his words carefully, "I guess I don't need to say what I'm thinking because you're probably already thinking the same, but how much did you two talk about it?"

       I expel a huff, and the stench of it bounces back at me from the back of the couch. "Whadda you think?" I sniff disgustingly. "She duh'n't wanna talk ta me anyway." We stay silent for a few moments.

       "So," Bryce asks, sounding snarky, "you're just going to sit here and wallow in self-pity that you made a mistake instead of go and admit what you did like a man and tell her why?"

       "Fuck you," I say quite clearly. If I wanna 'wallow in self-pity,' then it's my own damn choice.

       He laughs, and I roll over to glare at him. "That's better," he says. "Where's the tabasco?"

       "Oh no!" I warn. "Yer not givin' me thet nasty, wake-up-juice concoction o' yers."

       He laughs again. "It works. Hm. I'll ask Erin. She and Marie have spent enough time in your kitchen." He smiles to himself while walking outside to find where Erin went.

       I lie here on the couch and watch my best friend, wondering what Marie is up to today.




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A couple of the pictures in this drive me nuts, and as a pose maker, I have no excuse. Just saying. :)
Oh, and yes, I've realized I haven't changed their clothes in the past few "days." With all the crap clogging up my game, that takes forever, and I assumed getting the chapter out was more important.