Once a month, Jess dragged me out to get me out of the house, out of my head.
"I want to get smashed," I announce, leaning forward to put on my mascara, "Completely, totally, out of my mind, smashed."
Jess grins wickedly at me in the mirror, "Not afraid that I'll get you drunk and take advantage of you?"
After Grant, I'd been so cautious- maybe too much so. I never really told Jess why, all he knew was that I wasn't ready for sex and, surprisingly, he was ok with that. We could, night after night, sleep in the same bed without him trying anything.
"What? You? Mr. Nice Guy?" I joke, and he laughs, coming up behind me to wrap his arms around my waist and kiss my neck.
"I'm glad you're feelin' better, babygirl. You haven't been up to clubbin' in awhile."
I shrug, "I'm a waitress in a bar. Going to another bar isn't exactly what I want to do with my off time."
The club was dark, strobe lights flashing sporadically in the gloom. Couples grope in the hallways and guys and girls shoot up on the upper floors. The floor was sticky with dried beer, sweat and, I'm sure, blood.
"Whatcha want?" Jess yells over the dim of some rapper's new single.
"Vodka, straight!" I yell back.
The dance floor was a throbbing mass of humanity: guys, girls, and everything in between writhe on the floor, on poles, on each other. Some guy with a shaved head and "HATE" tattooed on his knuckles, grabs me, pulling me along and I go with it, jumping up and down, moshing, screaming until my voice goes out.
"Cil! Cil!" Someone's yelling in my ear. I've been sitting at the bar, shooting vodka for god knows how long and I'm incredibly trashed. I feel someone pull me off of my stool, slinging my arm around their shoulder as I mummble out "Drunken Lullabies". "C'mon, babygirl. We're goin' home."
Back at the house, I flop onto my bed, my head feeling like it's stuffed full of cotton. Jess crawls in beside me, wraps his arms around me, and kisses my shoulderblades. I roll over and kiss him, tucking my head between his jaw and shoulder blade. His hand slowly slides down my arm, picks it up, and brings it to his lips. Lightly, he kisses the snake-shaped scar that runs from my wrist to my elbow.
"I love you, Cecillia." he whispers into my arm, so softly that I can barely hear him, or be sure of what I'm hearing. "I don't know what made you do that, but I swear that I will never hurt you that badly."
