Blame It On The Pain Episode 45
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🧏 Blame It On The Pain FORTY FIVE:
(JACKSON)
From what I’m told, everyone has at least one night in their life where they get too drunk and end up regretting it.
I never had that night.
Until last night.
When I was a teenager, I was too busy taking care of Lilly…and when I was 21, I was too focused on MMA training.
For most of my adult life, I avoided getting drunk altogether. Between having an addict for a mother, along with hating the feeling of losing control, I saw no reason to drink to the point of being obliterated.
And this afternoon…I’m adding one more reason to that list.
It makes you act like a dumba ss and say stupid fking things.
Whoever said that a drunk mind speaks sober thoughts…was clearly still drunk off their as s.
Tyrone told me everything I said last night…not even bothering to mince words.
I never had any intention of seeing or talking to Alyssa again.
But…I do owe her an apology for how I behaved last night.
Which is why I’m currently making my way back to the bar that Alyssa now works at.
If I’m being honest, a small part of me was hoping she wasn’t working now so I wouldn’t have to go through with this.
But here she is, wiping down the surfaces of the almost empty bar. She’s wearing a black t-shirt with the name ‘Finnley’s’ written across it in white lettering and every time she moves I see a tiny sliver of her toned abdomen. She’s also wearing p ants now.
Because I’m a dk.
Shane nudges her and she looks up at me. Her expression tells me that I’m the last person she ever expected to see walk through that door. Shane leans down and whispers something in her ear.
She shakes her head and he begrudgingly walks away…but not before giving me a dirty look.
Guess he doesn’t like me all that much anymore.
I take a cautious seat at the bar and look around a little. It’s not a big place, pretty small actually…but it does have a very laid back vibe going for it. It’s definitely not one of those flashy bars that you hear about celebrities going to.
That’s when I take another look at her hair.
It’s a bit longer now and very dark, almost jet black.
I’m not going to tell her…because then I’d have to acknowledge the fact that I still, somewhere deep inside of me; have feelings for her…but I like it. Really like it.
I mean, she looked great as a blonde. But the dark hair?
It makes her hazel eyes pop even more and it complements her ivory skin.
She makes her way over to me after finishing up with the only other customer in the place.
I don’t miss the way her smile falls and her full lips form a tight line. Or the way she lifts her chin right before she walks over to me like she’s preparing herself, putting on a brave face.
And I definitely don’t miss the look of sadness in her eyes before they turn intense. “Whiskey?” she asks.
I detect a hint of snarkiness in her tone and I’m surprised to find that I actually miss her sassy side.
Now that she’s standing right in front of me, there’s a lot of things I find I miss about her.
But I have to force myself not to focus on that because if I do…I’ll be reminded of the things I hate about her as well.
Like what she did to me…how she hurt me.
I fking hate that she hurt me.
Almost as much as I hate that I’m never going to kss those lips or see that dimple again.
I meet her gaze. “No…I think I had enough to drink for a lifetime last night.” I give her a smile. “And if I want more, I can always wring out the clothes I wore last night, right?”
A ghost of a smile touches her lips. I can’t tell if it’s because she’s recalling the memory, or smiling at my lame-as s attempt to break the ice.
A part of me is hoping for the former because a part of me is proud of her for standing up for herself and throwing the whiskey right in my face.
Alyssa’s always been finicky when it comes to that sort of thing. Sometimes she defends herself…sometimes she runs. But she’s not running now, which is good. Because I really do owe her that apology.
“I’m sorry, Alyssa. There’s no excuse for the way I acted or the things
I said last night, so I’m not going to waste your time giving you any.
I was wrong. Plain and simple.”
There, I said it. Now my guard can go back up and I can walk away from her.
She inhales deeply and bites her bottom lip. “I accept your apology. I know it wasn’t easy to have to see me again.”
She pauses, appearing to be debating the next words out of her mouth. “I wanted to look pretty,” she whispers, looking down at the floor.
I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Pardon?”
“The reason I was wearing a skirt,” she says. “I, um. I wasn’t looking for attention or anything. I wasn’t trying to put it all out there like you said.”
I open my mouth to apologize again, but she continues, “I haven’t worn a skirt or a dress in over three months. I didn’t want any reminders of the person I used to be…or the things I used to do.
But last night, for whatever reason, I wanted to look pretty.” She pauses and draws in a shaky breath. “I realized it was a bad idea when a group of guys kept asking me for the bottles of beer that we keep in the cooler instead of what was on tap.
TO Be Continued
