Page 79 of Light in the Dark
It's fungettingdrunk, but it's not funbeingdrunk. Or maybe I'm getting too fucking old for this shit.
Wait…who's helping me?
I peer around my room and see a female figure perched on the edge of my bed. A familiar one.
A figure I couldn't forget no matter how drunk I am.
Long black hair glinting in the moonlight from my window. Olive skin from her Italian heritage. Long, slender legs bare beneath khaki shorts. A sleeveless V-neck top showing off her cleavage. Bare feet. Those damned eyes that I used to love staring into, brown and heated.
I stare, blinking. Surely I'm dreaming. "The fuck?"
"Hi, Fee." Her voice is different—a little lower, a little more grown-up.
"No. Uh-uh. I don't want this dream." I rub my face, grind my knuckles into my eyes. "Wake up, goddammit."
She touches my arm. “Hey, relax. You’re not dreaming." Her laugh is low and amused. “You are hammered, though."
"Not hammered enough." I cover my face, take a few deep breaths, and lower my hands—she's still here, in Three Rivers, in my house, on my bed.
Amy.
"Is it that bad to see me?" she asks with a little laugh. “Thought you'd be happier."
"Shit." I just look at her—I'm sober enough that I'm only seeing one of everything, at least. "You sure this is real?"
She's as beautiful as ever—maybe even more. She's still tall and svelte, but she's put on some curve in her hips and thighs. Her hair is expensively and expertly cut. Pin straight, jet black. Perfect makeup. Bright red lips—she always did like bold red lipstick. I used to have to wipe that shit off me all damn day ‘cause she was always kissing on me.
Fuck, fuck.
I stare at her, blinking—she's real. "Amy."
She smiles. "Hi."
"What—um. What are you—how?" I take another long drink of water. "I'm confused."
"My husband had one too many affairs, so I left him. My girls are with their grandparents in Florida for the summer while Greg and I figure things out."
"Oh." I have no idea what to say, what to think, what to feel—other than confused and drunk.
"I kept tabs on you over the years," she says, tracing a fingertip across my knuckles, from knuckle to dip, knuckle to dip. "No wife, no girlfriend, huh?"
I shake my head. "Nope."
"Is that my fault?"
I frown at her—god, she's gorgeous. Age has refined her beauty. Age, and clean, expensive living. "Fuck, Amy, are we really going there right now?"
“It’s been over a decade. We never talked about it. " She shrugs. "May as well, right?"
"Well then, yeah, it is your fault." I close my eyes and sigh. “But then…no it's not. It's mine."
"I should've given you a chance."
"Yeah."
"But, Fee…" She moves her hand from my hand to my thigh. "I was just so shocked and hurt. I never thought you'd do that."
"I'm too drunk for this," I mutter. "Or not drunk enough."
