Mare Moody - [blank]

Tabitha puts down her book and looks up at me with a mischievous grin. With her this means one of two things: she is about to do something dumb or she has done something dumb and is proud of it.

“Do you want to go to a club?” Bingo. Choice number one.

When I hear her request, my memories throw me back into the whirlpool of the events that happened the night before I was kidnapped. I don’t know if I want to risk getting caught by Kane again. I know for a fact that he won’t soften up again. For all I know, he could kill me.

You would deserve it

You should go back anyway.

My jaw clenches and I grit my teeth. I try to keep my face neutral as I look at Tabitha, her face anticipating a reply. What do I have to lose? If I lose my life, why would it matter? I hate it anyway and no one would even blink for a second. I am certain that nobody would go looking for me anyway.

“Sure.”

“Awesome! Mark will put Margaret to bed when he gets back so we can go after getting a little more dressed up.” She looks at my apparel. I know that comment is directly aimed at me.

Go back.

“I-uh,” I swallow through my dry throat, “I don’t really have anything to go to the club in.”

Tabitha looks at me and her smile grows wider.

“That’s perfectly fine, “ she grins, “We can pick you out something, like old times.”

She grabs my hand and leads me up the stairs. We tread through the white hallway again but this time, we stop almost immediately.

Tabitha’s bedroom is the definition of class. An elegant four poster king bed is placed between two gold etched night stand tables with antique lamps lightly placed on top. The decor scattered through the room breathes with Feng Shui and elegance.

She walks through the room and into a back room. The walls of the room are traced with clothing. Small sections are grouped together delicately. I’m sure this whole clothing collection could be sold and repay for the house.

She reaches deep into one of the racks and pulls out a glittery blue tank top. Ruffles covered in tiny reflective metal pieces flow down from the neckline to the bottom seam.

She hands it to me. Excitement is pouring from her aura. She looks at me and nostalgia runs through my bloodstream. My vision flashes to a time when we would harbor ourselves in her bedroom, tearing apart her closet. We would try on every combination we could and when nothing remained, we would fall back on her bed and stare at the ceiling together. That was when our deepest conversations took place. We would talk about the philosophes of Cartes and debate about Creationism. She was the only one who cared. Our friendship just made sense.

I grab the tank top and a wide smile comes across my face. Whenever I’m around her, it’s hard to not smile. It feels so refreshing from the depression filled hell I was buried in.

“Perfect,” I sigh, relieved.

She hands me a pair of silver buckle sandals, then urges me to try on the outfit.

I take off my sweaty t-shirt and slip on the tank top. Our bodies are still the same size. She hasn’t changed a bit even after having a baby.

I kick off my converse and unbuckle the sleek silver sandals. I slip them on my feet and rebuckle them. I look in the mirror in front of me. For the first time in 5 years, I look happy.

I look over at her, she is pulling off her shirt and pants. A red, scoop neck shirt and a pair of tight jeans are hung on the hanger in front of her. Her once clear, beautiful skin is now broken by a large scar tracing the bottom of her stomach. Wrinkled and abused skin sits at below her abdomen. She sees me looking and she looks down. She begins to cover herself as a flame of self-consciousness runs over her.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, “they are from having Margaret.”

You can never have a good thing in life without giving up another. Blessings are simply trades. Only curses are able to stack on top of each other.

“It’s really ok,” I say. I feel bad for staring at her scars like that.

She pulls the shirt over her and zips the pants up. Instead of relaxing and talking about life, Tabitha and I are destined for alcohol.

“Are you ready to go?” She asks, analyzing my new outfit with approval in her expression.

I nod my head. The smile begins to return to my face. She is infectious.

We walk out of her closet, trek through the bedroom and back into the hall.

“Let’s go.”

We walk side by side down the stairs and out of the door. The sun sets as we get into a taxi.

I don’t really know many clubs downtown other than the one I walked to a few nights ago. I was also not in the proper state of mind for anything to really stick in my conscious. Tabitha throws an address at the driver and the car jolts into motion.

The taxi flies out of Tabitha’s rich neighbor and the scenery around me begins to change rapidly from Baby Boomers to Millennials.

Apartment buildings flood the street and the business buildings continue to get taller and taller. Soon, I am in a labyrinth of skyscrapers and cars. As the car comes to a halt, the very last ray of sun is pulled under the earth, leaving Boston in the eerie dark.

Before us lays a glowing LED ridden building. It is the standard, ‘we don’t actually check IDs’ joint. We walk forward and march with the crowd as it slowly spills into the club. Thankfully we came when night had just fallen so we don’t have to wait in line to get in.

The floor of the club is a shiny black and the walls are painted a matte black. Either they think we have night vision or they really want their patrons to trip.

We waltz in and Tabitha immediately runs to the bar. I follow after her. I remember her in the bar earlier and a realization comes over me.

“Two shots of Tequila and a Tom Collins,” she says to the bartender.

I look at her awestruck.

“Give me your cheapest and strongest.”

She laughs at my request and raises her shot of tequila.

“Cheers to that.” With that, she takes the shot with ease. After the liquid is down, her face doesn’t contort at all. She has done this many times.

“Do you drink often?” I ask, looking at her inquiringly.

“Yeah, a few times a day,” she answers nonchalantly, “why?”

I look at her surprised. A few times a day seems more than a typical amount. I wonder why she looked at me with disgust at the shitty bar earlier. It must have been what I was drinking not the fact that I was drinking.

The bartender slides a shot to me and I raise it.

“Cheers to that.” then I swiftly throw it back.

The alcohol has changed my blood into running tequila. My vision is surprisingly still fine but my balance is teetering between fairly ok to absolute shit.

Tabitha has vanished into the crowd and I am left at the bar, alone. I go to pat the bar again but I rethink. Do I really want to go to Tabitha’s house tonight and throw up in her hall like a college girl?

I stand up from my bar stool. At first, my stance is unsteady but with my arms stretched like a drunken airplane, I am saved. I walk like a toddler. My hands remain slightly stretched to make sure I don’t fall. The music reaches my ears but my sense of hearing is so impaired that I can barely tell just how loud it is.

I walk into the mass of drunk, horny people and start dancing. Although I dance alone, I can barely tell through the haze. The rhythm is entrancing.

My arms are pulled close to my body and I smoothly rock my hips from side to side. I can see eyes on me but I am dancing for myself. I close my eyes and run my hand through my sweaty hair. I can’t tell if it’s actually hot in here or if the alcohol is creating a sauna in my veins.