Romantic Truth and Lies

Enzo

Alcohol

It has the potential to reduce your inhibitions.

Make you into someone who society accepts.

Allow you to unwind enough to ask the hot girl at the end of the bar out on a date.

Alcohol is extremely powerful.

The ability to tempt me.

To transport me away.

In order to make me forget.

It should only be an act of defiance. An underage misdemeanor committed for attention as well as to feel the effects. That is all alcohol should stand for. I'm only seventeen years old. Although I am still a long way from the age of twenty-one, alcohol has never been a healthy pastime.

I knew as soon as I tasted the liquid that it was a habit I would never break.

Not because I'm a drunk. That's something I'll never be, no matter how much I drink. Even when I require alcohol as much as I require oxygen.

I need to forget about it.

I drink the last drop of amber liquid from my glass. One drink isn't going to be enough to make me forget. If there was another way to erase my demons and induce amnesia, I'd take it. But I've never come across another option. This is my only choice.

"Another round," I say to Zeke and Langston in the corner booth next to me. It's a statement, not a question.

I need more, and they'll both stay with me for another hour, drinking until my past is erased.

Slinking out from beneath the shadowy corner booth, I stand and cross the room before climbing onto a stool at the bar. We have a waiter, but I don't have the patience to wait for her to notice that we require more drinks.

I cast a glance behind the bar at Blake. When he sees me, he knows to drop his other customers and serve me right away. His tip, like his job, necessitates it. This is just another bar owned by my family. In the grand scheme of things, it's nothing more than a safe haven for me to retreat to when necessary.

And lately, I've discovered that coming here on a daily basis is absolutely necessary.

Blake notices me from the corner of his eye. He politely ends his conversation with the flirtatious woman at the far end of the bar and walks over to me, pouring me another glass of the best bourbon we have. I reach for the glass he has placed in front of me and wait for him to finish making drinks for my friends.

I raise the glass to my lips, relieved that my nightmare will soon be over. My memory will be wiped clean, at least until I meet with my father later today.

A girl falls through the door as it flies open. She stumbles once before falling to her knees. Her cheeks, however, do not burn with embarrassment. Instead, as she scans behind her, fear threatens her eyes. As if the evil she is fleeing will catch up with her at any moment.

She gets up quickly and brushes herself off habitually, not because she's dirty. Her skin is a light olive color, but the coloring alone does not reveal her ethnicity. We live in Miami, where everyone is tanned. Her skin, however, suggests that she has spent far too much time in the sun. Hers promises a far more intriguing past and culture.

Her legs are too skinny, I realize as I soak up her body and memorize it like I do everything else. My memory is perfect, and even if it wasn't, there's no way I'd forget such a beautiful spark like her.

Her clothes are far too large for her. Her blue jean shorts encircle her legs too much. Instead of revealing the curves beneath her tank top, it hangs like a tent. Her dark black hair falls in thick waves down her neck, concealing her face.

But then she flips her head back and blows her hair out of her face. Fear has vanished. The clumsy girl has vanished. Gone is the awkward girl who was uncomfortable in her own skin.

I've forgotten her clothes are two sizes too large.

With one toss of her hair, she goes from meek girl to powerful woman. Her steps are bold and robust as she struts toward the bar, only three steps to the edge.

Blake floats over to her, as enchanted as I am by her smile at the bartender. I'm not sure what she says to Blake as she whispers, but I know he'll bring her whatever drink she ordered without checking her age. And I'm correct. Blake hands her a beer without looking at her ID. An ID that is either fake or shows she is not older than I am.

Her age, however, is irrelevant. Her piercing greenish blue eyes and unwavering poise are enough to persuade him to risk his job for her.

Blake is accustomed to serving underage clients, but only because of me. I've never seen him serve anyone who isn't related to me who is clearly a minor.

The girl raises the glass to her lips, the foam resting on her upper lip as she sips the golden liquid as if it were the only thing keeping her alive.

That makes sense to me.

I should avoid approaching her. I should stop thinking about her. I shouldn't bring more evil into her world when it's clear she's already running from enough.

I don't have the necessary strength.

I set aside the drinks Blake had set out for Langston and Zeke. As I slide into the stool next, I only take a drink.

As I move closer to her, her gaze never leaves her drink. She is unaware of the danger that has approached her.

"What are you doing in a bar like this, an innocent creature?" I ask.

Her eyes gently roll in her head, but it's the only indication she heard me. Otherwise, I'm not there for her.

However, I am a patient man. I know she heard me, and I know she is bothered by my proximity. She'll respond. If only for the fact that she's curious as to why I converged on her in the first place.