FicWad

Frozen, sat fearfully on a stool in a smokey bar in Brooklyn. Tom Petty's "Free Falling" blared on the jukebox speakers and the Phillies were creaming the Oreoles on a Magnavox on mute. A stranger approached me with the breath of an inebriated, fire-breathing dragon. It was hot on my neck and until I turned around, he wouldn't stop undressing me with his eyes.

"May I help you?" I turned slowly, almost half-expecting it to be Ben again, as it would have set up the perfect irony. Facing said stranger completely, my subconscious saddened as it was not him; wanting to finish a conversation about nicotine patches and their many faults, or how the gum gave him a cavity. The man sat there with tired eyes and a rusty beard, just waiting for me to turn. His hair hung down to his shoulders in a wavy textured mess.

"Let me uh--" He stammered momentarily sizing me up. I snarled and turned back to the game. They were three-and-oh. "--get you something to warm you up," His perverse tongue ran across the outside of his top lip strategically as my decline tumbled out of my voice box.

"No, thank you," He withdrew his body inches away from mine as his eyes grew a small flame. Pressing his hands onto the bar top, he dismissed himself from the stool and backed away.

"Fine," He declares, drunkenly backing himself into the jukebox. "I only like girls with D cups, anyways," He spat, chuckling his way to the men's room. The entire bar, crowded with the late-lunch crowd, had been disgusted by his account, but one guest more put-off than the others. I hadn't even noticed this guy walk in, so it made more sense that he'd been in there before me. His stature stood shorter than the stranger, though that wasn't stopping him from forcing an inaudible verbal beating onto him. They both stood beside the jukebox bantering violently as the bar stood still with suspense rolling thick through the air. The jukebox intentionally cuts off right before the men have submitted themselves to bouts of flailing fists and broken teeth.

"No, fuck you!" Spat the guest. His tone rang loud but there was something interesting about his diction.

"You wanna fuckin' go, huh?" The stranger towered over him as if to intimidate. They begin to close in on each other like prey and predator. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be breaking these beasts up or just sit there and not ruin my solid complexion with a black and blue shadow.

Tommy, the bar owner, rushes out of the back room behind the bar with his infamous bat, infamously named 'The Peacemaker'. He separates the men by parting them with the bat. The battle of testosterone quickly ceases when Tommy starts to grind into them both with words. His tattooed arms wielding the bat, slapping it into his hands.

"Look at you, causing all of this commotion," Dana puts a shot of Fireball in front of me. Her hair was thrown up into a messy bun so you could predominantly see most of her blond coloring. You could also see light tints of temporary colors she'd applied to her hair, like a fading rainbow. She had piercings all the way down her cartilage and gauged lobes. She was a couple years older than me, but was the sweetest human being there was.

"What's this for?" She giggles as she mixed a drink for another patron.

"Your boy from across-the-pond," Her head nods in the direction opposite of the side of the bar I'd been sitting. She rushes the order over to the patron before she could even see the look on my face. I tilt my body forward, and I don't see anyone familiar, except the shorter guest who stood up for me.

Maybe it was him, I pondered. Leaning myself back, I got a glimpse of his shabby hair and it instantly came to me.

"James," I said in a hushed tone. Even with Bon Jovi destroying my eardrums, he could still hear me. His head popped up from the pensive swigs he took from his drink. I turned, pretending as if I didn't see him notice me but it was much too late. I look to the empty seat next to mine, I guess I couldn't deny him a conversation as he almost gotten his ass beat because of me. With a childish glow on his rugged face, he skips over to the stool next to me. "What was all that about?" It slipped through my mouth faster than I could stop it.

"He disrespected you," He justified himself with that adorable accent. I was gradually growing accustomed to everyone I met that day being British. "I couldn't have just let that happened," He exasperated over the growling guitar color.

"Did you see how big he was, though? You could have gotten your ass handed to you in a lunchbox!" We chuckled. The moment sobered, as I figured I owed him thanks. "Thanks, though. I appreciated but I would suggest you not--" He cackles bowing his head and gaining a breath. "Get your ass beat for a girl when you don't even know her name!" I warned. His giggles subsided as he held his hand out.

"James, as you already know," His smile was very warm, he had been more sober than I thought.

"Natasha," I took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

"So, Natasha," It was something about that accent and the way my name sounded like a sacred scripture. I loved it! "Are you going to just let that sit there?" I looked to the lonely shot and sighed.

"We should do a shot together, since we're seeing the same therapist, you know," James nods in agreement, as Dana comes back over with a lovely smirk. She was almost jumping out of her skin to keep from giggling like a school girl.

"Can I get you guys another shot?" She read my mind and we made mischievous eye-to-eye glances.

"Yeah, another shot of Fireball, please," James had an open tab. "How do you like him so far?" My mind had to regroup and compute the question correctly.

"It's uh--" Mind regrouping. "It's not something that I'm quite used to so…I guess it's just different," I shrug.

"He's a really good guy, Ben," He nods. "His methods are a little--uh--" He uses his hands describe what he's trying to say,

"Off?" I laugh, trying to finish his sentence.

"Yeah, yeah--that," He points to me. "But he's gotten me through a great deal," It was nice to know from someone else's perspective that Ben wasn't up to poisoning teas and having a secret modus operandi.

"He seems like it," Dana comes back over with the shot she poured while she helped another customer.

"Here you are, kind sir," She puts it on the bar top in front of him, mocking his accent. We all can't help but to repair from heaving fits of laughter.

"Thank you so much. You can put this on my tab," Dana nods as she goes back to her register. He grabs his shot and gestures to grab mine. I wasn't much of a whiskey drinker, as all of my favorites were clear, but James seemed like he had good taste. I could just tell by the Joy Division shirt he wore along with his Diesel jeans. "You ready?" He raises the shot glass to his nose.

"Sure am!" I do the same. It smelled very comforting. It warmed me just from smelling it.

"To issues and--" He looks around for something else to toast to.

"C cups!" I cackle.

"To C cups!" We toast and simultaneously throw the shots back at the same time. The whiskey was surprisingly tasty. It had a spicy, cinnamon flavor to it, something like Big Red Gum or Red Hots candies. As soon as it shot down my throat it warmed my entire body. I shook and closed my eyes as it hit me. My mouth felt warm and my ears burned, but it was a good feeling overall. James took his like it was nothing and cleared his throat.

__________________________________



We sat there for a little while longer, as I returned the favor and bought the two of us a shot of Grey Goose Pear. We talked vaguely about our lives and how we ended up in New York City. Ben would pop up in the conversation every now and then but it hadn't been anything worth remembering. He told me about growing up in Glasgow, and wanting to be a musician, and how his parents were furious after they scent him through 'university'. His tongue was so foreign, the slang intrigued me. We talked about our love for music, and movies, and alcohol. Soon enough, time had reminded him of another engagement he was due to appear. With a sweet goodbye hug, we exchanged numbers and he departed.

It was around 5:30 when the sun began to set and ten minutes after James left the bar. The crowd began to fill-in with suits and briefcases as people exited their daily grind for a few drinks and a broken jukebox.

"He was cute!" Dana playfully slaps my arm as she withdraws herself from her black apron. She came from behind the bar with that stupid, giddy look plastered on her pale face. "Did you get his number?" I rolled my eyes, slowly feeling the effects of the brown and clear liquor commingling.

"Yeah, I uh--" My brain was going a little fuzzy, but it was a good fuzzy. "He's pretty cool," Her eyes widened as she sat in his seat next to me.

"Pretty cool?" She exasperated. "If Tommy hadn't settled that, he'd be pretty dead!" She cackled loudly, so much so, that everyone in the bar had been looking at us.

"Are you ready, or what?" Dana lived in the same building I lived in, so our plan was to walk home together. She nods, I grab my bag as she went in the back room to fetch her belongings.



"How was therapy?" That seemed to be the topic of the length of our walk before we got to our complex. Dana was one of the only people I told about it. I'd known her for quite some time as she was my boss's college roommate. Dana considered me for the position at her advertising firm and vouched for me to move into the building we lived in. I owed it to her, to confide in her a little.

"It was--" Summing up my experience of my therapist being an unorthodox professional with the name, that of a Dr. Seuss character. "--interesting,"

"Is it male or female?" We cross the street with linked arms as the sun meets the tops of the buildings ahead of us.

"Male, he's British--" She stops in her tracks.

"What is with you and being surrounded by British men? Is he hot?" I chuckle as we continue walking.

"He's handsome," My tongue's honesty had been due to the amount of liquor I consumed. Ben was handsome, even though his facial features were reminiscent of a vaguely attractive otter, it wasn't just the tone of his voice that deemed him a man worthy of a GQ cover. "He's not immediately handsome, though,"

"Like James, he was hot, immediately!" She replies.

"James sees him too," I omit with ease.

"What," All of this information seemed too much for her to handle. "You're telling me that your gorgeous, British bar mate, shares your handsome, English therapist? It must be so hard being you," She says with sarcasm thick on her tongue.

"He's not my bar mate," I retort.

"Sure, sure," She gives in as we arrive on our block. "Do you have any plans tonight?" I'm reluctant to tell her that I do, and with whom.

"Yeah…I do, actually," My eyes take direction to looking down at my sneakers.

"Oh yeah, with who?" I looked up to give her the you-know-who look with a helpless stare. "You're kidding me!"

"I wish I was, I just can't--"

"He's married, Tash!" It hit me harder when she said it. It wasn't healthy, but he gave me something that I felt I needed in order to feel good again.

"You don't think I know that!" I snapped, we walk into our building's lobby. "Scott says it's been over since June and when he's ready to tell her--" She cuts me off again.

"Do you really think he's going to leave her?" She looked up to me with sincere eyes. Scott was my high school sweetheart. He moved away to attend the University of Pennsylvania at the end of our Senior year in high school as we ended our relationship. Somehow, through Dana, our paths crossed again and I unknowingly had been working for his wife, Kate. Before discovering he was married, he'd taken me out--wined me, dined me, bought me an expensive wardrobe, and taken me on vacations I'd never forget. I was more than devastated when he waltzed through the office, completely bypassing where I sat clueless in front of a computer screen, and rushed into her office with an embrace and longing kiss.

That scene play in my head as Dana still gave me the shameful glare of a million scorned women. She turned her head to wave at the front desk night auditor.

"He doesn't even come see her anymore," I try to convince the two of us. We walk our way to the elevators and wait. Rachel wasn't the best person, but she didn't deserved to be cheated on; no one deserves to be.

"He's a creep--point blank. Period." She finished. My tipsy mind was annoyed with her judgement. I deemed her jealous of what I had. Even though, that was someone else's unfaithful husband.

He was mine first, I protested.

We walked into the elevator waging a peaceful war in our minds. She got out first, as it reached her floor.

"I guess I'll see you around," She declared defeated.

"Yeah, I'll text you," I called after her waving.



_______________________________



My head pounded with pressure. Scott and I lie in a heap of body parts coated in a thin layer of sweat and a heavy coating of guilt. He'd given me a good hour-and-a-half of an erect penis and every-now-and-then-grunts. Thinking back on a few minutes ago, where he was pounding me from behind, clasping his hand hard onto my throat and told me I was the only one for him. I basked in that light for a few minutes, not wanting to ruin the silence.

"How's about Cancun?" He turns to me on his side. I was left in this post-coital haze.

"What about it?" I look to him, his gelled-back, dirty blond hair maintained its style through all of the physical extremities.

"We should go, you know…after…" His voice trails in uncertain destiny. I gave some of what Dana said clear thought.

Was he really going to leave her? Quite frankly, I was getting tired of seeing him visit her with bouquets of pink and yellow roses and Godiva chocolates. Apologetic eyes and she didn't even know what he was so sorry for, she thought he'd been the perfect husband.

When was that going to be me? I always thought. I knew I would have to switch jobs if that were the case. I wouldn't be able to stand the awkward silences and heartbreak in her eyes if he was ever to bound in with roses and chocolate for me.

"I'm going to tell her,"

"What exactly are you going to say?" I looked to him with a sobered glare.

"I'm going to tell her about us," He defined. I would be humiliated, not to mention, out of a job. "She has to know that I've found someone else," He takes my hand in his and begins to trail soft kisses up my arm. I still wasn't very excited about all of this. I mean, she would probably be completely heartbroken, distraught, scorned mostly. I wasn't sure how serious he was until now. I honestly, didn't know how to continue the conversation. "We've been having issues for months, it's not like she won't see it coming," He continues to press warmer kisses on my shoulders as he leads to the nape of my neck. It felt good, hell, it felt amazing--but it was so wrong. He didn't belong to me, he hadn't belonged to me in such a long time.

What am I supposed to do? Before I knew it, he had already gotten on top of me and we were back at it again. I wasn't able to say anything to protest because his mouth had taken over mine in a heated battle for dominance. He was the best thing I couldn't have again, and I was the girl on the other side of the impending doom.

"The only one for me," He growled into my ears all I could muster was a moan.

He had me again.



_______________________________



I showered that night, washing all evidence of Scott down the drain. I couldn't go back to work tomorrow with his scent fresh on my skin, she'd notice. It was bad enough I had to look her square in the eyes after her husband had me all over my apartment, knocking things over and frightening my cat in the midst of our frantic rendezvous.

/The only one for me,/ His words rotated in my head just as breathless as he heaved them.

I couldn't think about much else before drifting off to sleep that night. I wasn't even sure I felt the same way. That's a white lie--I knew I didn't feel the same way. I was using him, as he'd been using me for three years.

Midway through his marriage, he was bored, as he tells it. He wanted something new--but familiar, something different--but convenient. As it sounds like he was picking out the perfect furniture for his Manhattan penthouse, that wasn't the case. He was shopping the market for a worthy candidate to step out on his marriage with. Somehow, I fit that criteria.

The odd thing was--Kate and I were the complete opposite. She had her shit together, and she made sure everyone that surrounded her knew so. Everything she wore bared the name of a dead designer; Dior, Chanel, McQueen. She'd be caught dead before she was caught behind trend. I'm sure she was giving Vogue advice at one point in her life.

Then, there was me. I enjoyed fashion, when I could afford it but I had a heart for vintage pieces, Of course, Dior, Chanel and the late-but-great McQueen were my muses, but I was a sucker for Old Hollywood glamor. Everything was constructed based on the body, fashion was more personal then. Every shape, contour, or bust-line never went under appreciated. Everything was so subjective to style--to art, then. My work attire remained jeans and t-shirts--twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five. I would find ways to dress them up if I really wanted to, with pumps or wedges…when I felt like it. I had a pretty solid collection of sneakers and flats that were my go-to options.

I didn't know what he saw in me, other then the hunger for sex we both longed for. We were so opposite the spectrum, honestly, I had no clue.



I awoke the next morning, feeling as if I slept double the time I really had. Feeling remarkably energetic after sleeping only six hours, I clearly remembered that I took my last two Kaltrocipen before bed. Kaltrocipen was the lesser known version of Xanax. The dosages varied similar to that of the other prescription but this was a little more effective. It was like Xanax and Valium had a one-night-stand and made Kaltrocipen. It calmed nerves and helped anxiety similar to Xanax but it momentarily numbed the synapse as Valium does. I've been on it for as long as I can remember. I was also illegally prescribing myself doses of Aphymenal, to focus and concentrate on work. When I ran out of Kaltrocipen, I self-medicated with a couple irregular doses of Ambien, as a sedative, of course. Having been a part-time street pharmacist myself, I knew not to mix doses and exactly how much to take. I knew how much would get me high enough to function around people and still feel relatively good. I knew how high to get if I really needed a lift for a couple days. It comes with it's flaws, though. If you're not careful, you could miss a Wednesday, or an entire week.

I fed my orange and white cat, Theodore, before leaving with bag and leather motorcycle jacket intact. It was a sunny October morning. I let my hair flow naturally as I was much too tired to blow-dry it the night prior. Its soft waves blew through the chill in the breeze and flowed behind me. I switched it up that day and wore a mosaic pencil skirt with a casual v-neck, black stockings and a pair of leather booties.

I was on my way to the pharmacy a few blocks from the complex. I decided to fill my prescription before work, in case I came into a calamity with Rachel that would cause my nerves to shut down completely. I was never able to think on my feet without my little helpers. They were my batteries.

I walked into the dead pharmacy to see them just opening. It had been a quarter-to-eight and I had to be to work by nine. I had a little time to spare.

"Hi," I waved to the owner, Ollie. He went to high school with my mom and we shared the same birthday. He was thirty years-older than me but he was really nice.

"Ms. Carlo," He greets me as he punches numbers in on his register. He was bald with these coke-bottle lenses that were so adorable. He only stood at 5'5", but he was the nicest man on earth. He never questioned my prescriptions of choice, he was just happy I came by to see him. Apparently, him and my mother were friends all the way up into their Junior year of high school. As he says, she helped a group of greasers destroy his extensive Science Project and they haven't spoken since then. "How are you this fine morning?"

"I'm well, Ollie," I dug for the prescription bottle and placed it on the counter. "Could you refill this for me?" There was a small copay I had to pay but it was worth my sanity.

"Sure can," He turned his back to me, fiddling with pill bottles in Ziploc bags. "Say, when are you going to start dating?" He would always do this, I knew exactly what was going to happen next--he was going to threaten me to go out with his thirty-five year-old bastard child of a son. His son, who still lived in the basement of his mother's and had a U2 tribute band.

No thanks.

"I am, Ollie," I warranted.

"You know, you're 24," He's still back there trying to find my prescription. I start to wonder as it has never taken this long to find it. "You're beautiful. A lot of more astute men fall for brunettes, like my son Miles," There he goes.

"No thank you, Ollie!" We both giggled. He returned to face me with a bag and questioning look. "What's up?"

"It says here, your prescription's been changed to Saphalopan," That was a prescription of a lesser dose than my original. That was candy, I wouldn't be able to get through half-a-day with that bullshit.

"What? Who changed it? I haven't talked to anyone," In fact, I did speak to someone, I just hadn't realized it yet.

"Uh--I have the referral here, one second," Ollie looked down at the label. "A fella with a funny name, Cumberbatch." I crumpled the dollars in my hand, snatched the bottle from the counter and slapped the money onto the counter. I stormed out of there without a word.

That rat bastard, know-it-all, piece of human excrement!

I was going to get him back for this.