Inebriated
Ray of Sunshine
The next two months with Gerard were some of the best I’d had. He made good on his promise for us to get to know each other better. We were constantly talking through texts and phone calls, especially when he was away doing work for the band and his comic book. He’d gone with me to the Obstetrician a few times, and seemed genuinely excited about the kid.
After giving up on jeans and pulling on a white sundress, I scooped up my purse and keys and made my way over to Gerard’s house. He’d just returned from New York, where he’d been finishing up some promotional work for his comic. He wouldn’t be expecting me, but he’d never been mad about random visits before.
Gerard’s front door was unlocked, so I knew he was home. I could also hear the television static in the living room, so I followed it with worry starting to burrow in my stomach. I’m not sure why, but I felt like something was wrong.
In the living room, the lights were all on and the TV’s static was the main sound. Gerard was sprawled out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He rolled his head to the side to look at me, and he squinted his eyes to get a better look, “Olivia, Whatcha doin‘?” he slurred, and I immediately knew he was drunk. I slowly walked over to kneel next to him, and I he began to reach for my hand. I pulled it from his reach and looked at him carefully.
“Yeah, it’s me. What happened, what’s the matter?” I asked, noticing that he looked lethargic and wilted. He was still wearing a hopelessly wrinkled casual suit that I knew he’d been wearing since he got on the plane yesterday, and his bright red hair was messy and tangled. I resisted the urge to try and fix it, which wasn’t hard since he smelled like booze and it made my stomach turn.
“Jus’ you know… thinking,” he sighed and I looked down to his left hand that was flexing absently. He was still wearing his cheap fake gold ring we had got from the 24-hour chapel all those months ago.
“Thinking about what?”
“’Bout you, sugar. ‘Bout me, and my life, and that kind of shit. You know, deep stuff.”
“Why were you drinking?”
“When I get to thinking and I get to drinking. Thinking makes me depressed and drinking makes it all easy, see? I don’t feel a damn thing right now,” he breathed out a sigh, and I frowned. How long had this been going on? I didn’t particularly want to think about it, but I had an inkling that it had been this way long before we encountered each other.
“You can talk to me about it,” I tried, and felt a bit hurt when he let out a bark of laughter.
“You’re my little ray of sunshine, Sugar. I don’t want to bring you down with this shit. You wouldn’t understand, anyway.”
“How can I understand if you won’t tell me,” I whispered angrily, and he only turned over on his side to face away from me and towards the back of the couch.
“You wanna know? Fine. I get to thinking about how much of a fuckup I am. I try to imagine what you see in me, and there’s absolutely nothing. I’m not even that good for you, Sugar, and you’re still here keeping me up like I’m the best thing ever. I feel like you only accepted my lame proposal because you didn’t want to be stuck with the kid by yourself. And when I think about everything that’s wrong with my life I just want to die, you know? Just take and kill myself. It’s scary as hell and that’s why I drink,” I had to try and make out what he was saying through his speech impediment due to the alcohol. I sighed and situated myself behind him on the couch, and pulled his back to my back.
“What the fu-, roll over, I’m the big spoon,” he grumbled, turning back around to face my and switching their positions so he was spooning me instead of the other way around.
“Gerard?”
“What?” he grumbled into the back of my neck, his hot breath encompassing me and I could still smell the heavy amounts of alcohol he’d consumed.
“Promise me you’ll stop this? I’ll talk to you if you need it, I just don’t want to worry about you from now on, thinking if you’re all alone in here, wallowing in your thoughts,” I closed my eyes and sighed, reaching a hand to scratch at my hairline. Somehow, I knew that even if he did promise me, he’d come back and do this again anyway.
“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies, Sugar,” he breathed in to say something else, but sat up and pressed a hand over his mouth. Leaping over me like some kind of inebriated gazelle, he ran to garbage can that was in the corner and leaned over it. Hurriedly, I scrambled off of the couch and sidled up next to Gerard, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and using my other hand to hold his greasy hair back. In only a few moments, he hurled out the contents of his stomach. The stench of stomach acid and alcohol permeated the living room, making me dry heave a couple times before I got control again.
I helped Gerard sit, and moved over to the couch again, where a hand-towel was slung over the side. It looked clean, so I tossed it over to the man slumped against the wall. It landed on his head, and he pulled it over his face to wipe off sweat and vomit.
Kneeling in front of him, I grabbed one of his hands and sighed morosely. Gerard looked up at me, his face apologetic enough to break my heart, “I’m sorry, Olivia. I try to hide all this shit, especially when the guys are around. I used to be even worse, you know? I was a wreck. I‘ll always be a wreck.”
“Please, promise me you’ll stop, Gerard,” he seemed to think about it for a long time before giving me a tentative nod. I gave a small smile and he reached a sweaty hand to run over my hair.
“I don‘t know what I would do without you, Olivia. You‘re my reverything.”
I watched silently as I dumped the third bottle of low-quality vodka down the basement sink. Gerard hadn’t woken up from his drunken sleep yet, and I hoped he would stay that way until I finished. I knew it was futile, but maybe if I got rid of the temptation it would help.
“Mornin’” a voice grumbled from the top of the basement stairs. Stiffening, I looked over my shoulder at Gerard, who was staring at me speechlessly.
“The fuck?” he asked, stalking over to me and grabbing at the still-draining bottle in my hands, “Stop it. Fucking quit,” he growled as he managed to yank the bottle from my hands and use his other hand to grab both of mine in a bruising grip.
“You know how much this stuff costs!?”
“Gerard, stop it. Cut it out, you’re hurting me-”
“I need this stuff, Olivia! Why would you even think this was a good idea?” his voice was gaining volume and I couldn‘t stop myself from trembling. He’d never yelled at me before, it was intimidating.
“I just thought that if it wasn’t around you wouldn’t want it. I was just trying to help-” with force he threw my hands down and seethed.
“I don’t need your fucking help!” he barked and with a few backpedaled steps, I put distance between us and ran up the stairs. As I was rushing out of the house to my car, I could hear the smash of a bottle and an almighty “FUCK”.
After giving up on jeans and pulling on a white sundress, I scooped up my purse and keys and made my way over to Gerard’s house. He’d just returned from New York, where he’d been finishing up some promotional work for his comic. He wouldn’t be expecting me, but he’d never been mad about random visits before.
Gerard’s front door was unlocked, so I knew he was home. I could also hear the television static in the living room, so I followed it with worry starting to burrow in my stomach. I’m not sure why, but I felt like something was wrong.
In the living room, the lights were all on and the TV’s static was the main sound. Gerard was sprawled out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He rolled his head to the side to look at me, and he squinted his eyes to get a better look, “Olivia, Whatcha doin‘?” he slurred, and I immediately knew he was drunk. I slowly walked over to kneel next to him, and I he began to reach for my hand. I pulled it from his reach and looked at him carefully.
“Yeah, it’s me. What happened, what’s the matter?” I asked, noticing that he looked lethargic and wilted. He was still wearing a hopelessly wrinkled casual suit that I knew he’d been wearing since he got on the plane yesterday, and his bright red hair was messy and tangled. I resisted the urge to try and fix it, which wasn’t hard since he smelled like booze and it made my stomach turn.
“Jus’ you know… thinking,” he sighed and I looked down to his left hand that was flexing absently. He was still wearing his cheap fake gold ring we had got from the 24-hour chapel all those months ago.
“Thinking about what?”
“’Bout you, sugar. ‘Bout me, and my life, and that kind of shit. You know, deep stuff.”
“Why were you drinking?”
“When I get to thinking and I get to drinking. Thinking makes me depressed and drinking makes it all easy, see? I don’t feel a damn thing right now,” he breathed out a sigh, and I frowned. How long had this been going on? I didn’t particularly want to think about it, but I had an inkling that it had been this way long before we encountered each other.
“You can talk to me about it,” I tried, and felt a bit hurt when he let out a bark of laughter.
“You’re my little ray of sunshine, Sugar. I don’t want to bring you down with this shit. You wouldn’t understand, anyway.”
“How can I understand if you won’t tell me,” I whispered angrily, and he only turned over on his side to face away from me and towards the back of the couch.
“You wanna know? Fine. I get to thinking about how much of a fuckup I am. I try to imagine what you see in me, and there’s absolutely nothing. I’m not even that good for you, Sugar, and you’re still here keeping me up like I’m the best thing ever. I feel like you only accepted my lame proposal because you didn’t want to be stuck with the kid by yourself. And when I think about everything that’s wrong with my life I just want to die, you know? Just take and kill myself. It’s scary as hell and that’s why I drink,” I had to try and make out what he was saying through his speech impediment due to the alcohol. I sighed and situated myself behind him on the couch, and pulled his back to my back.
“What the fu-, roll over, I’m the big spoon,” he grumbled, turning back around to face my and switching their positions so he was spooning me instead of the other way around.
“Gerard?”
“What?” he grumbled into the back of my neck, his hot breath encompassing me and I could still smell the heavy amounts of alcohol he’d consumed.
“Promise me you’ll stop this? I’ll talk to you if you need it, I just don’t want to worry about you from now on, thinking if you’re all alone in here, wallowing in your thoughts,” I closed my eyes and sighed, reaching a hand to scratch at my hairline. Somehow, I knew that even if he did promise me, he’d come back and do this again anyway.
“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies, Sugar,” he breathed in to say something else, but sat up and pressed a hand over his mouth. Leaping over me like some kind of inebriated gazelle, he ran to garbage can that was in the corner and leaned over it. Hurriedly, I scrambled off of the couch and sidled up next to Gerard, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and using my other hand to hold his greasy hair back. In only a few moments, he hurled out the contents of his stomach. The stench of stomach acid and alcohol permeated the living room, making me dry heave a couple times before I got control again.
I helped Gerard sit, and moved over to the couch again, where a hand-towel was slung over the side. It looked clean, so I tossed it over to the man slumped against the wall. It landed on his head, and he pulled it over his face to wipe off sweat and vomit.
Kneeling in front of him, I grabbed one of his hands and sighed morosely. Gerard looked up at me, his face apologetic enough to break my heart, “I’m sorry, Olivia. I try to hide all this shit, especially when the guys are around. I used to be even worse, you know? I was a wreck. I‘ll always be a wreck.”
“Please, promise me you’ll stop, Gerard,” he seemed to think about it for a long time before giving me a tentative nod. I gave a small smile and he reached a sweaty hand to run over my hair.
“I don‘t know what I would do without you, Olivia. You‘re my reverything.”
I watched silently as I dumped the third bottle of low-quality vodka down the basement sink. Gerard hadn’t woken up from his drunken sleep yet, and I hoped he would stay that way until I finished. I knew it was futile, but maybe if I got rid of the temptation it would help.
“Mornin’” a voice grumbled from the top of the basement stairs. Stiffening, I looked over my shoulder at Gerard, who was staring at me speechlessly.
“The fuck?” he asked, stalking over to me and grabbing at the still-draining bottle in my hands, “Stop it. Fucking quit,” he growled as he managed to yank the bottle from my hands and use his other hand to grab both of mine in a bruising grip.
“You know how much this stuff costs!?”
“Gerard, stop it. Cut it out, you’re hurting me-”
“I need this stuff, Olivia! Why would you even think this was a good idea?” his voice was gaining volume and I couldn‘t stop myself from trembling. He’d never yelled at me before, it was intimidating.
“I just thought that if it wasn’t around you wouldn’t want it. I was just trying to help-” with force he threw my hands down and seethed.
“I don’t need your fucking help!” he barked and with a few backpedaled steps, I put distance between us and ran up the stairs. As I was rushing out of the house to my car, I could hear the smash of a bottle and an almighty “FUCK”.
I enjoyed reading your story. Thank you for writing it.
12/8/17