Every time I had drank before it was to drown something. To make it impossible for my anger or sadness to surface under the weight of tequila and Long Islands. That never worked.
This time was different. At first I was drinking because I "owed" it to my friends. I had been neglecting them, or so I had been told. I needed to make time for both Quintin and them, so I did, even though I didn't want to. Once the alcohol started to course through my veins, I remember feeling happy, I had never been drunk and happy before, and I was enjoying it, I had never really been happy at all. I'd had a lot of false happiness, marijuana educed euphoria, and alcohol based energy, but never real happiness. To feel content with life before the influence of mind numbing substances was new to me, and to feel anything with them was even newer.
Quin and I were texting the entire time I was out with friends. He kept trying to tell me that he could wait, and that I should enjoy my time with her, and I was, but we were at a bar, and she was out hitting on guys, and talking with the friends that had met us there and I was talking to him. Neither of them understood at the time that just being in the same building as her was enough for me. I watched her dance and laugh and throw shots of liquor at the back of her throat. She was having fun, and so was I.
I kept drinking, I wasn't drowning anything, I wasn't hiding from anything, I wasn't escaping. I was just enjoying. Enjoying watching the people around me dance around, stumbling with no fluidity in their movements, watching my friends smiling and laughing with me and each other, and definitely enjoying this new guy who thought I was intoxicating.
I was happy, and high, and drunk.
After last call we started walking back to the house where we were supposed to be staying. I was about a mile straight down the street. It didn't take me long to remember that the gas station was just a few blocks ahead of me, and even less time to remember that it would be Quintin standing behind the counter.
I wanted to see him more than anything else in the world, and I didn't want my friends to be around for our interaction. So, I ran. Drunk as hell, I started lightly jogging toward the gas station, just to put a little distance between me and everyone else who was walking. When I got to the door, I had only put about a minute between me and the rest of the group.
As soon as I swung the door open and stepped inside of the store every word that was in my head had been lost. so I just smiled and he smiled back.
My friends had made it into the store by that point, we bought out Gatorades, and I was suddenly being rushed out the door to finish making our way home,
That split second of contact wasn't enough for me. I wanted more, needed it.
I decided that I couldn't be with my friends any longer. i needed to be home, to be alone. so I could talk to Quintin as I wanted without any inquisition from nosy friends.
They didn't need to know the things we shared, or the way we talked, it wasn't for them. It was for me. It was for him.
I made it home, and I asked Quintin if he would come over when his shift ended at six am, but he told me that he couldn't come over if I was drunk. I assured him I would be sober by then, and he promised that if I was still awake he'd be there. I fell asleep before that.
When I finally woke up, around eleven am, I texted him to let him know that I was awake and ok,
He asked if I still wanted him to come over, and I did, of course.
I let him know that I hadn't changed or showered and that I still smelled like tequila and an ashtray. He responded with "Alright, be there in 10."
As soon as he walked into my apartment, we exchanged hello's and I apologized for the condition of myself and the room we were in. He sat down next to me on my couch and said..
"I want you to be my girlfriend, I'm not sure if you're ready for that, and if you're not, I'll wait."
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