The wonderful thing about a city like New York was that there was always somewhere to find a drink, even so early in the morning.
"You don't look so good," was the observation from behind the bar.
Wheeler glanced at her as he accepted a full glass from her. Slender and dark, her long hair swept up away from her face. She smiled at him, but she was watching him carefully.
"Just need some hair from the dog that bit me," Wheeler muttered, swallowing a large portion of the stinging alcohol in one go.
"Well you be careful, honey," she replied, turning away to tend to another patron.
A little late for that.
He rolled the half-empty glass in his palms, remembering the weight and crash of the glass he'd thrown at Linka. His rage in that moment had terrified him.
There's something wrong with me. I've been no better to Ma than Dad was. I let her down just as much.
He swallowed another hefty mouthful, relishing the new burn in his throat and the hazy fog settling across his mind. He breathed a little easier. It was harder to think and easier to live with himself with the soothing burn coasting through his blood.
I can understand why he did it.
"So I guess someone else will be serving you drinks now?"
He looked up at the voice, blinking slowly. The woman who had been serving him drinks for the past few hours was gathering her bag over her shoulder.
"Maybe," he sighed. "You off, then?"
"Shift's over, so I'm going home," she said. "Unless you think you've had enough? You have somewhere to be, honey?"
I hate her calling me that.
"I guess," he shrugged. Then, at the thought of going back to Linka in this state: "Not really."
"Want one?"
He took the lit cigarette from her fingers and dragged heavily on it as she lit herself another one. She disappeared into the bathroom, and for a brief, insane moment, he snickered quietly to himself.
Don't flush the condom; it's bad for the environment.
"Shit," he sighed, the foolish grin still on his face. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and waited for her to come back.
"So how come I haven't seen you around?" she asked quietly, flopping back onto the pillows.
"Been outta town."
"Not much of a talker, are you?"
"Nope." He dragged on the cigarette again. Memories of stealing them out of his dad's pocket hit him, and he felt a strange sense of loss for his youth.
Maybe things were actually easier back then. I sure managed to deal with things a lot better when I was 15.
He glanced across to the naked girl in bed with him. She was blowing smoke rings carefully, one finger toying gently with the ring through her navel. He had relished the close, anonymous contact she had offered him, and the release that had come with sex. The alcohol still clouded his mind, though he felt slow and heavy now, as opposed to free and dizzy, and he wanted to sleep.
"So, how come you're back in town now?"
"Family stuff."
"Is that why you're drunk before midday?"
"Yeah." His laugh was bitter and he crushed his cigarette out on the ashtray by her bed.
"That sucks, honey." She swung herself on top of him again. "You should just do what I did."
"What's that?"
"Cut 'em out."
"I did. Sort of."
"Not working out for you?"
He shook his head and shifted his touch to her hips, liking the way his hands looked against her dark skin.
"Got a girlfriend back home?" she asked, blowing the last drag off her cigarette gently into his face.
Linka.
"No."
"How come?"
"I left her," he whispered, his body heavy and tired on the mattress. "I left her."
Linka ran to the door the moment she heard Wheeler's key scrabbling at the lock.
She wrenched it open and he almost fell through.
"Jesus..." He managed to right himself.
"Again?" she asked desperately. "Wheeler, why?" She burst into tears, having feared the worst and hoped for the best. As far as the proof went, hope had been useless.
"Save it, Linka," he muttered, his head pounding. He headed for the bathroom and started rifling for aspirin.
Linka sank into the couch, trembling. Ma-Ti, I cannot do this. I cannot reach him.
Instead of Ma-Ti's calm voice coming back to her, a vision of flooding and mud and screaming people rose in front of her. She gasped and squeezed her eyes closed.
The others were busy, continuing to help as Planeteers.
I will help you when I can, my friend, Ma-Ti promised. We will all help you.
You need us...
No, he needs you. I will call. Be strong, Linka. You can do it.
She hugged one of the lumpy couch cushions and listened to the water squeal through the pipes as Wheeler stood under the shower. He emerged sometime later, pale and holding his head.
"Wheeler, where did you go?"
"A bar I know."
"You were gone so long... What have you been doing?"
He snorted. "Use your imagination."
She spun the end of her hair in her fingers. "You were with someone?" she asked. She was somewhat hopeful, and it confused her, but the thought of him being alone was more difficult to bear than the thought of him being with somebody.
"Well it's obvious after six years nothing is going to fucking happen with you," he said, throwing the words at her cruelly. He closed the door to his bedroom and she heard the bed creak as he collapsed onto it.
But I kissed you, she thought desperately. I kissed you and I want you to be with me. And now you refuse to let me in.
She curled up in despair, silent tears making their way down her cheeks.
Linka was asleep on the couch. He crouched in front of her, watching her breathe.
You need to go home. There's nothing you can do for me here, babe. I'm what they call a lost cause.
Wheeler?
He jumped to his feet, slamming his mind shut as he heard Ma-Ti's voice. Sweating, he tugged his ring from his finger and tossed it across the room.
Try it now. Try and track my thoughts now.
Feeling shaken and yet oddly victorious, he headed for the kitchen cupboard above the refrigerator. His mother had nursed an odd nostalgia – a sentimental grip on the bottles of whiskey and vodka and various spirits his father had left behind. He grabbed the nearest one and swigged heavily from it, holding his breath to force a fit of coughing back.
He watched Linka sleep.
You are so beautiful.
He wanted to stroke her hair, but his hands were shaking so badly he knew he'd wake her. He sat on the coffee table and watched her breathe slowly, her body and mind exhausted from what she'd had to deal with.
I'm so sorry. Please just go home and forget about me, okay? I'm gonna take the easy way out and I'm gonna forget any of this ever happened. Any of it.
He swigged from the bottom again. The burn was intense, and fast, and he savoured it. When he stood up he couldn't stand straight, and he staggered quickly, dropping the bottle on the kitchen floor and hitting the wall. He made his way to the bedroom, vaguely aware of Linka sobbing behind him. He leaned against his closed bedroom door and let tears run down his face.
Wheeler fell into a light sleep, but awoke during the night, sick and quivering. He crawled into the bathroom and vomited, his stomach cramping and his head aching. He sat on the end of his bed and thought about going back to the bar to clear his head – or, rather, intentionally muddle it.
Unfortunately, this plan was disturbed when Linka knocked and entered timidly. "Wheeler?"
He glanced up at her irritably, but felt guilty when he saw her face. She was pale, and her eyes were red and swollen from tears, which had left watery tracks down her cheeks.
"What?" he asked, shifting his eyes to the floor. I'm just like my father. And I always swore not to end up like him, but here I am, and Linka's right in the path of it. I could have hurt her...
"Do you need anything?" Linka asked softly.
I need you. Oh, God, I need you. I could have hurt you. Don't leave, please. I'm gonna die without you.
"No," he responded.
She left him, closing the door quietly behind her.
He emerged from his bedroom at midday the next day, his head pounding with each beat of his heart. The apartment was clean – the glass swept up and the windows open, the breeze carrying in warm sunshine and ridding the rooms of the smell of alcohol.
Linka was gone.