Comin' Home to You (3 page)

Throwing back the shots quickly, he was met with a familiar burn in the back of his throat. But that burn was taken over by a strong acidic searing. Realizing that it was bitter bile ascending up through his esophagus, he tried to mentally will the vomit back down. Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful in that endeavor. Knowing there was no use delaying the inevitable, he sprinted to the bathroom, pushed open the door in a strong fashion, and quickly placed his head over the stainless steel sink. He expelled everything in an instant.

After almost a brutal minute of puking and dry heaving, Owen raised his head to view a withered and withdrawn man in the dimly-lit bathroom mirror. Even through the smears and smudges of the mirror, he could visibly see how far he had fallen in such a short time. His eyes abruptly watered, and while he was sure it was just a reaction to throwing up, an enveloping morose feeling made him realize that they were real tears. As he did his best to spit out the remnants of the bile from the back of his throat, he never wanted to curl up in a ball and emotionally die as badly as he did now.

He cupped his hands underneath the water faucet, letting the cold water accumulate. Once his hands could hold no more water, he splashed it on his face. The water was extremely cold and briefly made his lips quiver, but it did not give him the revitalizing effect he had hoped for. On retrospect, it felt completely unnecessary. Afterward, he slurped some water, gargled it, then spat it out to erase any hint of vomit and bile from his mouth. He gazed once more at his reflection. His doppelganger reminded him thoroughly of his new, true form. He was now practically a walking husk, just like his liver. Mentally, he was still cognizant, but his body was showing so much wear and tear, that he half-believed his limbs would just fall off, like an action figure broken from overuse. He realized he was just a mere mortal, not God's gift to women or the most badass man on the planet. Owen Tomkins was just another man who could diminish and die just like anyone. It was all thanks to his favorite thing in the world. Despite his pain and sadness, he realized that alcohol was his death sentence, vice and salvation all wrapped up in one intriguing combination.

I look like a fucking zombie,
thought Owen.
Emotions were starting to cloud his thinking, just as tears were blurring his eyes. He opened his right hand and examined the palm, noting all the creases and calluses. Then, he proceeded to slap himself furiously on his right cheek. He could feel a sharp stinging of pain, but it was the only thing reminding him that he is still a man.
Suck it up, Owen. Get the fuck out of here. Don't let anyone see you like this.

As fast as he could, Owen rushed out of the bathroom. He had every intention of leaving without anyone knowing. During his brisk journey, he knocked over a vacant wooden chair, creating a loud and obstructive sound. While his knee throbbed in pain, he continued quickly to the door, hoping no one saw him. He wished he could have caught one last glimpse of Grace out of his peripheral vision, but he sadly never saw her. He took it as a sign that it was truly over for the two of them.

When his fingertips pushed open the exit of the restaurant, he could hear someone yelling loud enough that it echoed inside the building. “Woah, woah, woah, what the fuck is he doing?”

It took him a split second to recognize Bubba's intimidating and booming voice. He guessed it made plenty of sense, as he was a man skipping out on his check. But he couldn't care less about what others thought of him or whether he was making a small infraction of the law. Freedom from the masses was all he desired. Just true solace, with him gripping a bottle of liquid heaven. He couldn't even remember what alcohol awaited him at home, but he knew he would drink damn near anything. His mouth practically salivated at the thought.

It was a great relief when Owen felt the warm and muggy dusk air upon him after escaping the confines of Louie's. It used to feel like a home away from home, but now it felt like he was leaving prison after a long stint. The sun was descending in the west, creating a perfect canvas of orange and dark blue in the distant sky. He took in the beauty of it all while clumsily stumbling to his truck. Owen wondered aloud if he would ever see such a sight again. He didn't figure it would be his last sunset, but he somehow doubted he would see another as beautiful as the one tonight. Grudgingly removing his eyes from the setting sun, he reached his vehicle. Before he could place his hand on the door handle, he heard a familiar female voice yelling at him.

“Owen Tomkins, where the hell do you think you're going?”

The three shots he had recently drank had hit him way harder than usual. Normally, he would barely have a buzz, but now he was having problems formulating a reply for Grace. Probably another effect of his liver not functioning the way it should. The most he could physically do was look her way with glossy eyes. She walked toward him from the entrance with her shoulders in a permanent shrug. Stopping just in front of him, she placed a hand on her supple hips, showing a sense of frustration and confusion. Her current pose stirred him. He wanted her so bad right now, but he was having problems standing upright. He wondered if he could even perform sexually at the moment.

Grace pointed toward the doors of the entrance fiercely. “You better get back in here and pay your tab!”

There was no denying Owen was drunk as hell. Using his driver's side mirror as leverage, he was doing his best to even stay standing. His brain was thinking a million unclear thoughts at once. Most of them were wondering how best to explain how desperately he wanted her. He longed to hold her in his arms, to taste every inch of her and to make her scream in joy. Yet, none of his thoughts were precise enough for him to explain to her verbally. Instead of talking, he inexplicably threw his wallet at her. While the sun still lingered, it had become too dark to see a brown wallet. She couldn't react quickly enough as it slapped on her forehead.

Exasperated, she flung up her arms in angst and confusion. “Owen, what the fuck is your deal!?”

“You wanted me to pay my tab. There's my wallet.”

“Answer me! What the fuck is your deal!?”

“The fuck...what the fuck is your deal!? Just coming over and fucking me and leaving.”

“Don't...don't you dare try to make this about me! I did what I did as a test. I wanted to see if you really were the right man for me...I wanted to see if you actually gave a shit about me. And what do you do after we are done making love? You march your scrawny naked ass for some cheap beer instead of staying in bed with me. You could have held me for a minute, and fuck, I would have accepted that! But you never bothered to think about me and what I need!”

She wasn't making any sense to his inebriated mind. While he easily remembered the night they had sex, he couldn't remember what happened after he chugged some Miller Lites from his fridge. Owen tended to have a long euphoria after the sexual climax, which usually led to memory loss. In retort, he replied with the first thing that came to his mind.

“Why are you being such a fuckin' bitch?”

Grace's eyes widened in anger. “A bitch!? You've got some fucking nerve, Owen Tomkins! You want me to be a bitch? I’ll be a bitch! You are an alcoholic piece of shit. You’re a fucking greasy mechanic. Good job, buddy! You really succeeded in life! You have a tiny dick, you’re lousy in bed and you’re startin’ to look like a fuckin’ Ethiopian! I have every right to be a bitch. Why I have stuck with you for this long is beyond me. You know what? Fuck you, Owen. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”

Owen truly wished he could have taken back those words, as well as his past actions. He didn’t know Grace had this pent up fury in her. Was he really that bad? Was being a mechanic really that bad? He could have easily countered that argument by calling her out on her being a waitress. He could pay the bills with his job, but that probably wasn’t enough for someone with gaudy taste like Grace. He was well aware he was not the greatest guy this world had spawned. Now Grace had brought him down to feeling like the world’s biggest piece of shit.

A somber and apologetic feeling came over Owen. “I don't want to argue...I just-”

A sudden wave of vomit quickly escaped through his mouth. He wanted to avoid doing this in front of anyone, especially Grace. Alas, he had no chance of preventing the sudden surge as it splat on the loose gravel.

Even though she was steps away from the fresh disgorge, Grace backed up a step for good measure, placing her hands over her mouth in disgust. “Oh my God, you seriously just threw up.”

He understood her surprise. Since around twenty years old, he was proud to own the uncanny ability of never throwing up. His ability to drink all night and not feel the least bit queasy was legendary among his peers. Yet, he suspected his current predicament wasn't completely alcohol related. His liver was barely working, if at all. It made plenty of sense that the last three shots of whiskey quickly shot back up, just as hastily as he shot them down.

With her hands still over her lips, Grace started to catch on. “Are you sick or something?”

“No...”

“I ain't ever seen you throw up from drinking.”

Slowly slumping to all fours, Owen dry heaved for a moment before replying. Despite how he felt, he wanted to maintain his personal legacy. “I guess I must have caught something from my grandson.”

“Jesus, I keep forgetting you are a grandfather.”

A small silence laid claim to the former couple, with the only sounds being the occasional heave and the chirping of crickets. The quiet was broken when the entrance to Louie's opened, allowing the sounds and music from inside to leak outward. A short man with a black polo and perfectly ironed slacks walked toward Grace with an air of bravado.

He crossed his somewhat buff arms before speaking. “Everything alright out here?”

Grace bent down to pick up Owen's wallet. Owen raised his head for a moment to catch a glimpse of the kneeling woman. While looking at a side view of her ass, he noticed the man was also checking out the view. Owen recognized him as the manager of the restaurant, though most interactions with him were boring small talk.

After collecting the correct amount of cash from his wallet, Grace handed the money to the manager. “Here. The amount for his tab.”

Taking a look at the heaving Owen, the manager squinted in disbelief. “You throwing up there, bud?”

Owen couldn't hear him over a dry heave.

“Hey, isn't he that old boyfriend of yours?” asked the leering manager.

“NO! I mean...yeah. But, we are done, I promise.”

“Good, good. You can do way better than that waste of space.”

Slowly rising to his feet, Owen attempted to walk toward the manager after hearing his insults. Unfortunately, by the time he staggered back to his feet, the manager had already went back inside, but not before grabbing Grace's ass. She didn't seem to mind. How he wanted to smash that prick's teeth down his throat. Owen could not stand being made a fool of, especially by an asshole who probably spent twenty minutes in front of the mirror, just to look at the definition of his abs.

His thoughts changed when he noticed Grace slowly advancing. He prepared himself for a slap in the face, or even a kick to the balls. She had to be embarrassed, and that was something she detested. He was determined to take either willingly if it could resolve this situation. Instead, she calmly handed the wallet back to him without any drama.

“Thanks,” he muttered without much emotion.

“Owen...don't come back.”

He stared at the gravel and kicked a few pebbles before replying. “How long have you two been talking?”

“It's none of your business, but...we've been talking a few days before I came over that night. He's never gonna know about that.”

“So...that's it, huh?” Lacking the confidence to win her back, Owen knew of nothing else to say.

“Listen Owen, I ain't going to sugarcoat this. You had your moments. Hell, you're one of the most charming men I've ever met. But all you want is sex. I want more. I want a relationship. I want a man who has something going for him. I want babies. I wasn't ever gonna get any of that from you. So, please. Find somewhere else to drink. Don't come back here.”

He wanted to believe she wasn't serious, but the tone she carried made it real enough. This was not how this night was supposed to go. The realization that he would be walking through the gates of hell alone was a painful punch in the gut. The more he pondered this, the more his heart and liver ached.

Part of him wanted to shake it off and remember that there are other prettier and easier fish in the sea. The other part of him wanted to slap himself for even thinking such a thought. Grace is a hell of a catch for someone like him. Not that he was ugly, but an aging, lower-middle class man who drinks too much usually could only take what he could get. But as she walked away, he wanted to scream out so badly. This wasn't like him, and he knew it. Yet, in a matter of hours, his personality had changed drastically. He needed someone, anyone, to help him get through this.

Say you are sorry. Say you love her. Say you will do anything to have her by your side.

Instead, he watched Grace enter the restaurant without giving Owen one last look goodbye. In the end, he couldn't say anything to her. He was too scared, and that was the bottom line. Owen placed his hands in his pockets and slowly nodded his head, as if agreeing with himself that he was a failure. He took one last look at the sunset, but the sun had descended below the horizon that only fragments of orange remained. The rest of the sky was purple and black, like the colors of a metaphorically beaten heart. Not knowing what else to do, he shamefully climbed into his truck and started the ignition. Loud music immediately blared through the speakers, but he immediately turned the stereo off. Silence was all he wanted as he drove away from Louie's