I knew it was a bad idea. It was dumb, ridiculous, reckless, everything—all the worst. Stomping my fingers on the Uber app and typing in the address, “Strawbeery Bar and Lounge 777 Lilac Street,” I crouched in front of the Ickmann’s entry gate. For some reason, the idea had come into my mind, I’m homeless, jobless, and damn near broke. What if—I mean, I know this is crazy, but! What if I got so drunk that I got arrested and I could stay in a holding cell for the night?

My better judgement was unbelievably quiet that night for some reason.

Soon after, a blue sedan rolled up. Sliding into the backseat, I kept my eyes trained to the window and hoped the driver wouldn’t talk to me.

“Hey, there, you’re Vivian, right?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m Zil, by the way, they/them, in case you’re wondering.”

I kept staring at the window, Please, please don’t talk to me.

“Ahem…Ooh, Strawbeery’s! I love that place. Oh my gosh! Have you tried their strawberry daiquiri? It is AMAZING!”

“Mm,” I murmured.

“Not having a good night, huh?” Zil said, brushing a wavy pink hair behind their ear.

Alright, I give. “You can tell?”

“Well, it’s only 8 PM and your mascara is already smudged all over your eyes.  Not to mention, you’re heading to a bar, so... ”

“Oh, shit, really?” I grabbed a makeup mirror from my bag. It was true after all. Streams of black eyeliner were covering my cheeks and reaching my jaw. Good for nothing All-Day Waterproof mascara, I yelled in my mind. Rubbing my face with some make-up remover wipes, I remarked, “To hell with it, who’ve I got to impress anyway?”

“You never know,” Zil chuckled, “you could meet the love of your life!”

                My eyes widened, “Well, I hope fucking not! I’m a mess tonight!” I chuckled, and so did Zil. For a millisecond, everything felt alright.

                “Oh, we’re here!” Zil exclaimed.

                Neon pink lights covered the parking lot and reached through the windows, casting a fuschia haze over Zil’s car’s black interior. They slowed in front of the entryway, and new age indie pop music leaked into the car.

                “All jokes aside. Be careful out there, okay?” Zil said as their cocoa irises met mine in the rearview mirror. I nodded.

                From the sidewalk in front of Strawbeery’s, I yelled, “Thanks, Zil!”

                “You, too! Hope your night gets better!” They yelled back. I smiled.

Strawbeery’s was a place I found way back in my freshman days. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be there, but it was fun to just blend in and watch. No one ever really paid attention to me, so I could even read or do schoolwork, even as pop music blasted my eardrums. I always sat in a little cubby with fluffy brown faux leather cushions way at the back. That night, I looked for that very same spot.

                Searching past wooden tables covered in glasses and cliques, I found it. It was almost as if it were bathed in the light of the heavens, cloaked by the heavy fuschia lighting pouring from the ceiling lights. Yes! My comfort zone.  I pushed my way between shimmering bodycon dresses and plaid jackets and sweatshirts and graphic tees, “’Scuse me. ‘Scuse me. Pardon me.”

                 Finally, I slid into the booth. I wasn’t ready to enact my plan just yet.

                I sat back, staring into the pink fuschia LED light above me and ignoring the searing pain of light burning my retinas. I sighed, the ball forming in my throat released with a sigh. Sure, I had a plan for the night, but what about after that? Where am I going to stay? How am I going to find a job? It was like I was standing at the edge of a steep cliff and seeing a pitch-black abyss at the drop. Nowhere to go. No way to survive.

                “Fuck this shit,” I murmured. At my right, there was a single seat open at the bar. That’s my spot. I ignored the nausea and nervousness building up in my gut and pushed my way.

                Just behind the counter, a buff woman was wiping off a glass, talking with one of the patrons.  She wore high-waisted jeans and a black tank top and coal eyeliner. After a moment, she turned, “Hey! What can I get you?”

                “Uhhhh…. ” I stared at the hand-drawn chalk menu of overpriced drinks, trying to figure out what would get me the most drunk for the lowest price. I called out over the music, “Could I get like 10 Fireballs or something?”

                “Oh, one a’ those nights, huh? Look, instead of wasting your money on that, why don’t you get a Brewer’s Wife?” She said, moving to lean on the bar counter.

                “The heck is that?”

                “Somethin’ I came up with. You’ll be one of the first to try it~,” She said in sing-song. I could feel a bad decision impending.

                “How much is it?”

                “It’s just $15, cheaper than all those Fireballs you were planning on getting.”

                I took a moment. Staring at the pink lights all around me was hypnotic. “Sure, why the hell not. Not like it’ll be the first bad decision that comes around to bite me in the ass!” She smiled, a toothy grin that spread from ear to ear. Immediately, I began to regret our agreement.

                She turned excitedly and rushed around behind the bar, picking up ingredients as she went. I folded up my arms up on the counter, nestling my nose in the bend of my arm. I relished in the chatter and laughter of the lounge which competed violently with the pounding bass and synth notes of the music.

Across the bar, a man caught my eye just for a moment. In that moment, I had almost confused him for an angry Greek statue. He had a blank look on his face, curtained by wavy hair, and, when his icy grey eyes met mine, a shiver went down my spine. I snapped my head away.

“Alright, here it is,” she beamed as she slammed the biggest jug I had ever seen in my life onto the counter. It was wider than my head even. Streams of black clouds swam in the amber liquid, and bubbles raced to its surface.

“What the fuck even--?” I said aloud.

“Try it! Try it!” She urged.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, fuck it.” Gripping the jug with both hands, I pressed my lips to its rim and began to chug it down. It had the searing bite and bitterness of alcohol, I knew that for sure, but it also tasted like ash and fire and…seawater or something? It was gross, but not so much that I hated it.

“Wait, wait! You’re supposed to sip!” She yelled over the pop music.

Halfway through, I paused, “What?” The world seemed to swirl around me. “I think I—I think I drank it too fast.”

“Ya think!” I could her voice fading. Nausea yanked at my insides, and my head felt like it was spinning.

“What the FUCK was in that?!” I yelled, but I wasn’t sure my lips were moving. I slipped off the chair and made my way around the bar, pushing my way through the crowd. The man with the silver eyes twisted towards me. Somehow the second time around, he didn’t seem so scary. Stumbling ahead, I pointed a finger at him, “You’re cute or whatever, “slurring every word.

“Aw, shit. I am really drunk,” I mumbled to myself. The bass thumped into my ears until it felt like my whole body was vibrating. I needed fresh air.

Shuffling to the glass doors, I shoved my way outside and a chill passed over my entire body. Suddenly, it became apparent just how screwed I really was. I fell to my knees on the Velcro mat below, sniffling and sobbing like an idiot. I buried my head into my hands.

Currently, I had no job, no prospects, no home, and almost no money. I had been just barely holding on for so long, and I thought if I just kept holding on, even to those people I knew didn’t care about me, if I just held on like hell, I wouldn’t fall this hard. But, there I was, drunk, alone, and broke at a bar in the boondocks. It was soul-crushing.

A wave of nausea hit me once again. This time, I couldn’t hold back. The entirety of my lunch and that Brewer’s Wife special forced its way out of me. My head rolled; my brain still felt like it was swimming.

“Ew! Are you good?!” A girl in a blue dress asked.

Quickly swiping my mouth, I lurched towards her, “Could you call the police on me?!”

Her brows furrowed, and her friend screeched, “What the fuck? Let’s go. She’s crazy!” I watched as they scurried away.

“Shit.” I realized quickly that maybe my idea was trash, and I seriously needed to find an alternative ASAP. I searched my purse for my phone. Maybe I could call Bertholda for one last favor or even, God forbid, my Pa.

I found it in the corner of some dark pocket filled up with makeup debris. I pressed the power button a few times. “Of course,” I mumbled. It was dead. I knew there was a payphone across the street, but I had always avoided it. It always creeped me out, shrouded in forest and shrubbery like it was. But, I figured trying to call someone was probably better than sleeping in the parking lot. 

I stalked, stumbling here and there, across the quiet freeway and spotted the shining payphone booth. I pushed away the glass door and slid inside. Stuffing 2 quarters into the coin slot, I gripped the phone. I held it tightly as I tried to decide who I’d call. “Bertholda. Pa. Bertholda. Pa. Bertholda. Pa. Bertholda. Yeah, Bertholda.” I helped her so many times; she’d at least help me for once, right?

I slammed her numbers into the device. The dial tone rang. It went on for a few minutes before I realized she was definitely not going to pick up. A pang of headache struck my brain. I was exhausted, and I could hardly remember my father’s number. “Come on. Come on.” I searched my inebriated brain. “ 5 or 4 and then maybe a 0 or maybe 2…ugh.” I slammed the numbers that I could figure out.

“Hello? Who the hell is this?” A man grumbled.

“Uh, Dad?”

“Vivie? Why are you calling me?” He knew I hated that nickname, but he always called me it anyways.

“Oh, hey, wassuhh~ I just, uh… I need some money and, ” I coughed, “maybe a ride or something, just a little somethin’ to tie me over, y’know?”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Are you drunk?”

“Nah,” I said, slurring.

He was silent.

“Ok, okay, yeah, yeah, a little. Today’s just been rough. Just please, Pa. You know I wouldn’t ask if… ”

“You know I have my own life, right?”

“Yeah, yes, I just-- ”

“Well, then, you also know I don’t give a shit about whatever mess you’ve gottenyourself into.”

“Dad…”

“No, you listen! You never call. You whine and say you hate me, and then call me in the middle of the night drunk? What the hell do you think this is?!”

I knew this was a waste of time. “You know what, fucker?” I said, seething. “This SHIT is exactly why I fucking hate YOU! You didn’t even BOTHER with asking me why I’d be this FUCKING DESPERATE to call YOU of all people! You PIECE OF SHIT! You have a LOT of nerve to lecture me on being a good daughter! No matter what YOU do, you STILL act like you’re entitled to me giving a FUCK about your feelings!”

The phone beeped. He hung up on me. I took in a deep breath and sighed a big sigh, staring at the incandescent orange bulb at its ceiling.

“Great.” Now, I had to make my way back to the lounge for Plan A.  I stepped out carefully. Crossing the freeway, new tears blurred my vision.

As I neared the middle of the right side of freeway, just past the median, a bright light hit my peripheral. I froze. Just a few miles down, a truck was barreling down towards me, speeding so fast I could hear the wind rush past me as it slammed into my body.  In a flash, my head hit the car hood and, as the driver hit the brakes, I bounced off onto the road. Somewhere in the background, I heard screaming and yelling.

Everything faded to black.