Title: Liberate
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters of ABC's General Hospital.
Don't listen to anyone who tells you vodka tastes good. It doesn't. But when you begin to drink long enough, you develop a tolerance. A tolerance to the over whelming taste of cool, rubbing alcohol. And there's that light feeling, your buzz—when that kicks in, you couldn't give a half fuck if you were drinking week-old piss.
I'm on my fourth shot of vodka—after 3 beers and a shot of tequila…maybe vodka really does taste good. I smile to myself as a let it slide down my throat in one swig, and put the shot glass down with comedic caution. I wouldn't want to break the glass, now.
It's been a week now since that lying whore left me. Not that I care. That's not why I'm here at Jake's. I'm not one of those clichéd fools who quote/unquote 'drown their sorrows in a bottle of boos.' Its guy's night out. I nod. Yup. I look to either side of me at the empty bar stools. No one ever said I had to go out with anyone but myself. I am a guy, after all.
Coleman Radcliffe…or is it Ratcliffe? I think about that for a long moment before shaking my head. Anyways, he's been staring at me like I'm a puppy run over twice. I see myself breaking a beer bottle and shoving it into his greasy head. I also see myself getting thrown in the back of a police car. Forget that.
Life has been one big fucking blur since that little tramp decided to clean her fucking conscience at my expense. Ignorance is bliss. I guess she thought it fit to screw my whole world over so she could go fuck that wife-stealing bastard. Not that I care. He can have her. I'm sure the poor sap will be in my shoes soon—give or take a year.
I turn and look at the hot little brunette playing pool. I also see her giant, bald companion. I took take him…Probably not.
I hit my hand on the bar and look at Coleman—what kind of name is Coleman anyways? ColdMan…ColdMen…CoalMen. I chuckle, "Hit me."
I can see he's wagering whether or not to cut me off. Lucky for him, I can think on my feet.
"Look man, I'm not totally fucked up yet, alright? Two plus two is four and George Bush is the president." I toss a wad of bills at him.
He shakes his head, but we all know that money talks. I'm sure he knows I'm gone 10 ways from Tuesday, but until I pass out and choke on my vomit on the floor, I'm still a paying customer. As I said, money talks.
This time, much to my enjoyment, he just hands me the whole damn bottle. "You're awesome, thanks." Granted, there is only 1/3 left, but its 1/3 I'll put to good use. I take a quick drink and sigh loudly. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and looked around the bar. Everything is sort of spinning…except for her as she walks into the room with this…grace.
I stand up suddenly. I have to grab the bar to steady myself. I'm not drunk. Just a little…tipsy. I remember her, vaguely. But I remember none the less. We were friends once. Almost lovers. I can't help but smile like an idiot when my mind flashes to us. Okay, I remember her vividly—who was I kidding? She grabs a pool cue and leans over the table. She breaks with the relative ease that I remember. She's divorced now…tainted goods, maybe. Then again, maybe not. She aims at her next ball but stops and looks up at me slowly.
I smile and try to lean casually against the edge of the table. Okay, where did the table go? All I feel is air. Way to go, Rico Sauvé. Another good thing when you're drunk, all that pain crap goes away—even the physical kind. So despite crushing my own ego, I was relatively okay when I fell on the dirty floor. My arm was resting on something sticky. My God, I did *not* want to know what it was. I quickly lifted my hand off of it and looked up at her.
She looked down at me disapprovingly in a way that only she can. I know that she is on the verge of a smile. I could always tell. It was something in her eyes…
"Zander Smith," She chastised, "Get up before you embarrass us both." She offers me her hand.
There is no way in hell I would actually take it and she knows it. Y'know—the ego thing. I get up and wipe my hands on my pants. "Hey…" I say slowly. I know my voice is slurred but I don't give a flying fuck. She's seen me at my worst.
"Hey," she says in return. "You look like hell."
Ah, such refreshing honestly.
"Yeah? Well, you look hideous."
I'm a bad liar.
She laughs and pulls me into a hug. "How are you?"
"I've been kicked out my house, I had my wife tell me she doesn't want to marry anymore and to top it off I'm here—at Jakes. Other than that, I'm peachy fucking keen."
She looks at me. And for the first time I don't see pity from someone I tell this to. All I see is indifference. She then smiles suddenly and leans in to kiss my cheek.
"You're one of the toughest men I know. I don't need to tell you that you'll bounce back."
Not even a sympathy hug? Okay, maybe I was expecting some coddling. I nod. "Thanks…" But after a beat, I'm relieved. I realized because I don't want her to feel sorry for me. Not her. I sit on a chair beside her and cross my arms. My lids are feeling pretty heavy but I want to stay awake.
"So…how are you?"
She nearly snorts and turns to look at me. "Well, my husband left me. And I lost custody my kids. Other than that I'm wonderful."
Is she making fun of me? But one good look in her eyes and I know she's serious. I haven't seen her in a while seeing as how I'm wrapped up in my own shit so I had no idea. The 'I'm sorrys' are nearly out of my mouth but I stop. She wouldn't want my compassion either.
I grab her arm and pull her into my lap. She's just a slip of a thing, it's like I'm holding nothing.
"Zander…"
Her voice is softer now—she's nervous.
"It'll be okay. You always are."
I rest my head against her back and kiss her shoulder through the red cotton fabric of her shirt.
She turns around to look at me, her hand on the back of my neck. I'm suddenly very aware of how totally hammered I am. Not to mention very remorseful at this moment because I know she would never go upstairs with me and fuck our pain away. I don't want to think about that right now—I'll scare her right off my lap. I laugh.
She tilts her head.
"What's so funny?"
I shake my head. "Oh, it's nothing."
My smile is infectious, I know. So she shows me her lovely pearly whites.
I'm desperately trying to think of something to say.
"So, how's the fam--"
My query is cut off short when her mouth suddenly descends upon mine. Not that I mind. And it was as if I was suddenly out of the fog. My head was oddly clear. Her lips were as soft as I remembered. My hands run through her silky hair and I realized that I missed this—I missed her.
Now let me tell you this right now, I'm basically a gentleman. Yes, me. I didn't shove my hand up her shirt or down her pants. We just…kissed. It was a phenomenal moment between her and I despite the circumstances that drove us there. We kissed so slowly—like two comfortable lovers who knew each other inside and out. My arm encircled her waist and I held her close.
Her hands ran through my hair as her tongue met mine. I wanted more, I'm not going to lie. All I can think at this moment is 'Please remember this in the morning. Please remember this in the morning…'
And as suddenly began, it ended. I left a light kiss on her jaw and looked up at her as she looked down at me. She bit her lip and smiled. She stood and touched the side of my face.
"I better go…"
I grab her hand.
"Stay, please…"
I know she wants to—I can feel it in every damn fiber of my being. But I know she won't.
She leans in and takes a small nibble of my bottom lip before grabbing her purse.
"See you around, Zander."
I touch my lips—I can still feel hers.
"Bye…Carly." I said her name like a caress. But she was gone already.
I grinned and stood. For the first time in months my insides were humming with excitement. Because, with just one kiss, she freed me from my confines of anger and gloom. As I walked up the stairs, anticipating my unimaginable hangover, I made a mental note to remember to call Carly. I had to thank for liberating me.
-End-