Page 1 of Losing Faith

Part I

Chapter One

Lisette

Thesmellofmixedliquorengulfs me. I can practically taste it in the air as swarms of bodies move around the crowded bar. I watch people regularly spill their drinks as they move, and as desperate as it sounds, I never wanted to be a tile on a bar floor as bad as I do right now. A simple life of having alcohol thrown on you to be cleaned up at the end of the night.

I glance around the room again because people-watching at a bar when you’re sober is a lot more fun than doing so while drunk. At least I keep telling myself that so I don’t down the double shot of tequila in front of me.

Forcing my eyes to stay off of my drink, I focus on a couple in the corner who are clearly in a heated argument.

“Do you want me to make you something else?”

My eyes snap forward to the bartender. “I’m good,” I tell her as I grab my glass and watch the drink swirl around.

I feel a pair of eyes on me, but when I look up, the bartender only gives me a nod before someone calls her over. I bring the glass to my lips, and when the sour scent assaults me, reminders of what I will need to wake up to tomorrow if I drink this nearly suffocate me. I place the cup back down hard enough that some of the drink splashes onto my hand.

My eyes zone in on the cool liquid, and before I can change my mind, I lick it off my hand. My eyes fall shut as the slight burn surges through my blood and I quickly realize that was aterrible idea. My mind runs wild as I realize having a few hours with a blank mind will feel a lot better than the worry of tomorrow’s what-ifs.

If you drink this, you’ll be another disappointment.

I’m already a disappointment, what’s one more?

Grabbing the cup, I watch the tequila swirl, taunting me for one sip. I rest the cup on the counter before reaching for the coin in my back pocket.

I pick a side before flipping it in the air, but before it can land in my hand, someone snatches it out of the air. I look up and the bartender shakes her head as she examines the coin. I feel my brows pull together and almost reach over the counter to snatch it back, but she opens her mouth.

“Flipping for a drink with your sobriety chip?” She rolls the coin between her knuckles causing my previous annoyance to be halted by her little party trick. “We’re supposed to carry these around as reminders tostaysober, not to decide whether or not we should drink.”

“I’m aware.” I reach for my six-month sobriety chip, but she turns her hand palm side up, and it disappears.

I send her an unamused look. “Cute.” I lean back in my seat and she doesn’t seem moved by my glare as it settles on her.

Instead, she slides my drink off the counter, trading it for a cup of ice and a can of club soda. “When you hit rock bottom, I’ll let you have that double shot of tequila. Until then, you keep fighting.”

I rub my finger around the rim of my new cup as my eyes settle on her again. “And how do you know I’m not already at rock bottom, Houdini?”

She seems to let out a low chuckle I can’t hear over the music. “Because you’re flipping coins to decide your fate. Rock bottom doesn’t look like that, blondie. Trust me.” The seriousness in her tone looms over me and my eyes land on my new drink.

I may not be at rock bottom, but the pain in my chest doesn’t care how low I am. I want a drinknow,not when I’m desperate enough to sniff leftover oxy off the ground.

“Change your face,” Houdini calls out to me again, but as my eyes drag up to hers, I can’t find the energy to obey her wish. Her shoulders slightly slouch before she swipes someone’s card and walks over to me. “You’re doing great.”

I have no idea why the sobriety gods sent me this stranger who’s clearly desperate to be someone’s sponsor, but my nice chips are almost used up.

“I’m not.” I bang my knuckles on the counter a few times in thought. It isn’t until she takes my hand and rubs away the redness in them that I notice how hard I was hitting myself.

“You’re sober,” she reminds me before turning my hand palm side up and my sobriety chip is laying there. It’s dim in here, but the blue coin shines just enough in my hand to see the big six in the middle of the triangle.

“How long have you been sober?” I ask and a somber smile touches her lips.

She reaches for her back pocket before setting a red chip on the counter in front of me. I turn it over, expecting something different than the number that correlates with the color of the coin, but the number one stares back at me.

“I was sober for seven years before a month ago.”

My eyes meet hers and she gives me a weak smile as she shrugs.

“That doesn’t mean those seven years don’t count for nothing,” we both voice at the same time, and her smile turns more genuine.

---