Page 36 of Game Misconduct

fifteen

. . .

Bex

Neon lights nearly blind me, burning the back of my retinas, and I stop in the middle of the threshold to the hipster dive bar as I try to adjust. There’s a stickiness to the old linoleum flooring that even a healthy layer of sawdust can’t hide, and the smell of stale booze and body odor lingers in the air.

It’s a far cry from my favorite Michigan bar in Charlestown, or even the pub I like in the Financial District, but the more Ceci drags me to this little hole in the wall, the more it’s growing on me.

Like mold.

The black mold in the bathrooms, to be exact.

My friend sits waiting at the bar, a cocktail in front of her. She’s wearing a floor-length, strapless burgundy gown with a generous slit in the thigh and sky-high stilettos, her berry-red lipstick immaculate as always.

As I stride toward her, I can feel the tension seeping out of my shoulders. I need a drink, stat. She takes one look at me and waves over the bartender.

“Amaretto sour, and a rum and Coke. Make them doubles,” she orders as I take my barstool.

“You can tell, huh?”

“Oh, sweetie.” She pats my arm condescendingly. “Everyone can see the bags under your eyes.”

“Fuck off,” I mutter, although I smile to take the sting out of it. “I thought I put on enough concealer.”

“Drawing attention to it.” The bartender places a drink in front of each of us, and she murmurs her thanks before swiveling to face me. “Okay, tell me everything.”

I take a sip of my drink, letting the crisp flavor of the rum override my fraught nerves. The bubbles in the Coke burn as I swallow. “I think I’m an asshole.”

“Oh, you are,” Ceci assures me.

“Thanks for making me feel better about myself.”

“You know that’s not my job.” She rolls her eyes. “But what is the issue now?”

“I hurt people before they can hurt me.”

“Again, not a surprise. You’ve been on a self-destructive path for as long as I’ve known you.”

Hiding my scowl in my drink, I ignore the way she’s been able to read me so clearly. “I know you’re a brainiac, but you’re supposed to be good with computers, not with people.”

She tosses her head back and laughs, her long, chocolate-brown waves fluttering with the movement. “Oh, sweetie. I contain multitudes.”

“Don’t quote Whitman at me,” I huff.

“There, there.” She pats my arm again. “You’re determined to be grumpy today, aren’t you?”

“I’m in a negative headspace, and I can’t seem to get out of it.” My thoughts keep looping, over and over and over again, and none of the techniques I’ve learned are working. “I’ve booked an emergency session with my therapist, but she’s not available until tomorrow.”

“Alcohol to the rescue, then,” she says without a hint of sarcasm. “We’ll get you out of your head, if you can’t be in it. Drink until you’re ready for your therapy session.”

I frown. That doesn’t seem healthy, either.

Ceci must understand that, though, because she sighs. “I’m shit at coping mechanisms. All I can do is bury my thoughts and feelings in work, and if that doesn’t work for you, I get it. Don’t know what else to try.”

“I’m just kind of… done. With everything.”

“Work going okay?”