Blues

38. Shotgun Blues

"Every night I go to sleep, the blues fall down like rain.
Takin' pills and cheap whiskey, just to try to ease the pain..."
Shotgun blues by The Blues Brothers

There's a long list of things I strategized about when I decided to leave Tacoma and adjourn to Seattle. One of those things was to stay discreet, cloaked from the meddlesome eyes that would be interested in my true identity. I stripped myself from my last name, scorning the esteem it would bring me. I wanted to be alone, with no friends or additional expectations that I don't want to meet. I wanted to obliterate the past, and start a new yarn, in which I'm the only heroine and leader, and not my family's name.

Shit happens, I truly get that. Shit always happens to me. I'm not innocent, and I'm absolutely not a good person.

But this moment, this spot where I'm hogging, insensate like a statue, is one of those I'll never forget. Shit happens, but right now I'm mired deep in it, my fears materializing like a gigantic brute, the muted murmurs fighting with my own emotions, and the atmosphere around us is the Armageddon.

I feel an arm belting around my waist, and even though I know whose arm it is, I still don't unbend, my whole world feeling like it just shattered into a billion irretrievable piece. "What the fuck are you trolling, Claire?" Dylan raves next to me, his hold around my waist tautening, and that doesn't help my lurching stomach, ready to unload the drinks I tippled earlier.

Claire shrugs, a nasty smirk taking over her face, and if it weren't for my shocked state, I would've clobbered her face into a shape that would never allow any expression modifications. "Why do you look so shocked, Dylan? Hasn't she told you what almost everyone in this room knows?" She asks, crossing her arms. "Her-"

"That's enough, Claire! Cut that nonsense and go to your room! leave me to fix the damage you've caused!" Claire's mother fulminates, her long finger pointed at the stairs.

"Nonsense, Mom? You're the one who told me about her whore mother!" Claire laughs, and I don't even attempt to look at her mother's face, my eyes pinpointed to Claire, watching her rampage. I allow Dylan to watch her true colors as they outcrop, observing my ultimate humiliation patiently, not because patience is a virtue.

What do they say about those who laugh last, again?

"I can't believe I always had your back, when everyone else despised you." Dylan speaks through gritted teeth, his eyes riveted onto Claire. "I can't believe I considered you a friend."

I expect her to throw a fit, but instead, she laughs. "It doesn't matter that much, since I never considered you a friend either." She advances closer to Dylan, her eyes turning teary as she stares back at him. "But then again, you always knew what I've always considered you, and you never cared, huh?" She swallows. "Did you even think of me when you decided to pick Linda, and then her?" She jerks her head toward me. "You completely ignored my feelings when you chose a bitch whose mother is a cheap-"

"Don't you fucking dare finish that sentence." I speak for the first time, and I'm surprised when my voice doesn't come out grating or frail, but potent and acute. I move out of Dylan's hold, perceiving a waiter who's standing nearby. I make my way to him, before I take one of the champagne glasses, taking one sip as I listen to the silence I caused.

"What would you do if I finish it? Oh wait! I don't care." She shrugs, smirking once more. "She was a whore. Everyone knows that."

I allow a lethal smile to take over my face, taking another sip as I survey the crowd, a crowd that contrasts with the ones I usually see. They're gentleman and ladies that are dressed in flamboyant clothes that cost more than months' rent of my apartment, yet they're watching our exchange intently, as if it would invoke a planetary change in their lives.