Of Alcoholics & Drug Addicts
He turned his eyes to look at me, although he was silent, almost as if he was looking for some sort of reprieve from his actions.
I was giving him my acidic stare, as worse as I could manage. He let his gaze slip from mine, I watched it drop away from my own like a scolded dog, and I remembered what he told me, seemingly years ago, that he hated it when I stared at him because it reminded him of his father.
He never told me much about his father, although he was never a cruel man as far as i had knowledge, he never hit his children or beat his wife, but he had a fancy for drink, probably where Irish had adopted the trait from.
I turned away from him, it created a slight sting in my eyes but I stepped forth and shuffled towards the edge of the platform, clasping the wooden railing tightly untill my knuckles turned a faint shade of white. I was denying myself the privilege to cry. Crying was not something men indulged in, however annoyed one may be.
I turned sharply again, facing to the right, and moved off down the balcony. Again I clasped at the railing and flicked my gaze around the degenerates moving across the bridge over the murky bayou waters, studying their faces each in turn, as if looking for an answer.
I felt him follow me, less hear and more felt. Anger was bubbling within me, ripping off my hat I wiped my brow like it provided some salvation, a distraction perhaps, but then I felt him touch me.
He pulled me by my shoulder untill I was facing him, defiantly I refused to look at him, but I heard him attempt to sympathise.
"I'll get it back. I kin' easily get y' money back" he spoke, softly in his typical drawl, I knew he was trying to sound comforting, but he came off very nonchalant, he refused to let me turn from him again, and instead seemingly felt like he was trying to hug me or something.
I didn't deny him of that, as much as i wanted to see him in tremendous agony for gambling the money i had given him for my own, highly important needs, away to some rich, industrial man with a corkscrew moustache and a wicked sly grin. I felt myself sag a little in his grip, however i didn't raise my arms in the slightest, oh no, he wasn't going to think he could get away that easy. His facial hair brushed my cheek a little as he tried to make himself seem like the taller man, it felt rather amusing how we were so aesthetically similar, people often mistaking us for being related , despite the fact of our different heritages, and that my hair was more brown whilst his was black.
"I aint your f-f-f... fl-..." I couldn't grit out what I wanted to say, again I tried to pull away from him, angry at myself for reasons I knew I couldn't help "Flooze!" I finally managed, the anger once again bubbling somewhere under the surface and echoing in my voice "or your b-b-bitch, you little sn-sn..."
Irish stirred again and took hold of my face between his hands; it was slightly disturbing because I couldn't tell what he wanted from me, I rolled my eyes to his to stare at the brown eyed drunk, he was grinning, he suspected he had won. Despite myself I gave him my defeated stare.
"Thass' better Shaky-boy." He declared, that wicked coyote grin practically from ear to ear, gently he patted my face before he pulled away from me, if was relief that he wasn't going to try and kiss me or something. If he was a dog i suppose i would be able to hear his tail wagging itself to bits. "How'ere I did manage to get y' something" he turned his upper half, I watched him with faint earnest without trying to make it very obvious I wanted to know what it was.
He presented a brown paper bag; I knew what it was without looking inside apparently he had paid for the pills I needed, but probably not as many as I had asked for, the sly weasel. I moved my hands quicker than I would have liked him to see, I didn't want him, him of all people, to know how dependant I was on the drugs he supplied. Or how much I appreciated what he did to get them for me. How dependant I had become on him.
He barely batted an eyelid as I snatched the bag away, the second I was sure it was in my possession I turned a gaze up to him sheepishly, rolling the bag firmer as I slipped the pills away into my pants pocket, feeling a little shamed. A drug addict feeling shamed in front of an alcoholic, how fitting.
I turned to head back into the bar, i felt a hand grace my rear which made me turn sharply to glare at him, he was still smirking as he drew his hand back and turned his body to face off the balcony, he gave me a wink which made my cheeks feel a little like they were burning, "Catch'y later, maybe then you'll pay off y' debt" he chuckled tunefully as i tried for a finally time to leave, slinking away back downstairs.
He called something to me as i left through the downstairs entrance, i didn't reply, asking him to repeat it would be like agreeing with him anyway. I'd have to ask him tomorrow when i came out in the mornings to find him slumped by the entrance to the shipping yard, or often on the side of the street, drunken and unconscious. Pleasant friendship made it all worth it, i supposed.