Vacant Promises

Steaks of red web across the white of my eyes. I turn my head side to side inspecting the lines on my face. Just yesterday what was soft and feathery, now runs like deep rivers on a map, aging me by ten years. Sunspots shine brightly with their ability to escape last night's cover-up and veins in my temples protrude pulsing with anger. My hair, crispy and wiry stands out like wings in evidence of a fitful night's sleep. What happened? I ask myself, knowing all too well the answer. My heart pounds in an effort to send oxygen to my brain. I run my fingers down my face, squishing my pale cheeks together. Cry, dammit, just cry, I plead, but I'm too crapulent to produce any liquid. All of which has been sucked up by the bags under my eyes. Recoiling, I glare down to the sink. Similar to my complexion it had once seen better days. Marred from years of overuse and neglect, with epoxy dribbling over its chips and cracks prolonging its aging deterioration. 

Splashing my face with cold water, desperate to lift the fog from my brain, I blink at the words on the packaged soap. Sunset Hotel, it reads cheerfully with its promise to strip away the damage of last night. I try to rip the package open, but it slips from my hands. “Crap!” I grunt, gripping the edge of the sink and lifting my eyes to the mirror. Glaring at my naked body, I follow the lines and folds etched into my chest leading into the hollow of my sad breasts. I cup them as my face turns red. Abandoning my reflection, I slink from the mirror backing into the toilet. Suddenly aware of the noise in my pelvis, I press my hands into my thighs, and land with a thud. Benders tend to create a certain kind of havoc in my bladder and it aches and groans dribbling pee out. I take a deep breath and look around the bathroom. Evocative of a clinical setting, the mint green walls and silver fixings illuminated by buzzing fluorescent lights sends a shiver down my spine. Wiggling the last drop out I gently wipe my sore bottom. Scenes from last night crash before my mind and I ask the day old question, how did this happen again? Nostrils flaring, I huff slumping under the weight of my stupidity dropping my sorry boobs onto my lap.

I wince at an attempt to stand, everything hurts. My legs are shredded from poor choice in footwear, offering no support to my distressed spine. I hoist myself up by the safety bar and reach for the lever. I flinch at the deafening flush, shouting “Jesus!” at its obnoxious descent. I catch sight of my silhouette in the mirror, looming at me in distorted disfigurement. Although blurry, I can still make out my towering full figure. Making a silent prayer I have an extra pair of contacts in my purse, I reach for the doorhandle, and I lean my head out. Squinting around the main room, I spy my purse and snatch it up back into the bathroom. Quickly I rummage the pockets and thank God for throwing me a bone. Peeling the tabs back, I fumble them to the tip of my finger and slide them in. My eyes blink thirsty for moisture and my world becomes clear again. I trudge from the bathroom, one arm covering my breasts.

 My head spins as I scan the room for my clothes, debating if I'm still drunk. The dim room does not help my quest and produces an eerie nostalgia of my childhood home. My chest tightens as I focus on the task at hand. I spot my jeans laying inside out on the floor, panties peeking out from under them. No sign of my top. Squeezing myself back into them with no strength to wrestle the bulge, I leave them unzipped. Self-hatred growing by the second, I grab the pillows and throw them off the bed. There hides my top cuddling up to an empty wine bottle. Seizing it back, I slip it over my head along with its pungent aroma of last night's debauchery. I gag. Sweat begins to bead on my forehead and heat courses through my body. Bad time for a hot flash. Fighting the urge to rip off my clothes again, I sink down to the floor. I'm too old for this shit. 

Holding my head in my palms my mind scrambles to make sense of the night before. “One drink, one drink, one drink!” I say, rocking my head back and forth, mocking myself. It wasn't so bad; my ego contends, so you had a few drinks, a few shots, fucked a complete stranger, so what? How is a woman my age still believing her own lies? Fanning myself, my heart races and my mouth goes dry. I crawl to the nightstand and pull myself up by my fingertips. There like a beacon of light sits a water bottle along with my pack of smokes. Water spills down my chin and a noise between a hiccup and burp vibrates through my lips. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I grab the pack of cigarettes. 

The soothing sensation hits my throat like the comforting touch of a mother's hug. I take a seat on the edge bed and watch the smoke dancing in the sunshine peaking through the window. Looming over me is a pair of long velvet curtains in the shade of dismal green, that cast a unnecessary gloom around the room. Scrunching my nose, I snub out my smoke and pull one aside. I jerk my head back, being temporarily blinded by the sun blazing off the snow. Squinting into the abyss, my eyes adjust to sign outside my window. Just like the sink, faded and cracked, it reads Sunset Hotel, trying desperate to be cheery. Underneath as if just to mock me the word “Vacancy” blinks in red with an arrow pointed in my direction. The boardwalk appearing as vacant as the\is hotel, except for a few joggers and couples strolling the beach. They smile holding hands seemingly unburdened and my heart swells watching them. The sound of the ocean tries to comfort me and I become mesmerized by the sun's sparkling reflection trailing out to sea. Contemplating running into the ice cold water to shock me sober, I drop the curtain. Tears caress my cheeks and sobs erupt from my mouth, producing all too familiar feelings, with all too familiar promises. Leaping from the bed I pace back and forth. Wiping the tears away, I recite “I’m going to cut back, I will never do that again, I learned my lesson this time”. I stop dead in my tracks and almost roll my eyes out of my head. Mustering the courage to face the day, I suck in my stomach, zip my jeans, grab my things and walk out the door.

Tiptoeing into the lobby, I pull my hood down over my eyes. No stranger to the walk of shame, I’m still relieved when no person greets me. The smell of hope and reanimation wafts through the room and I make a beeline for the coffee counter. It’s littered with pamphlets and flyers and I slide them away with little care as they fall to the floor. I pour the coffee into a flimsy styrofoam cup not bothering with cream or sugar and take a sip. Feeling my spirit begin to rally, my eyes linger on the state store across the street. A lump forms in my throat and my stomach lurches. Turning my back to it I take another sip. I look down to the floor and my eyebrows raise. You've got to be kidding. In big bold print shouts Do you have a problem? I pick up the pamphlet, turn it front to back and mumble “Hmph”. Shoving it down in my purse I walk out the door.