The Roommate
Chapter II
I had been drinking in a local bar ten minutes from my apartment for 4 hours now. A girl I had matched with and set up a date with on Tinder was supposed to be here 3 1/2 hours ago. I didn’t know if she walked in, saw me, and walked out, or if she just ghosted me completely altogether. Whatever. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, and I was certain it wouldn’t be the last. I was on my seventh beer, some locally brewed IPA, a whopping 9% alcohol. It was safe to say I was sufficiently blasted. I gave a wry smile aimed at the bartender, a messy haired, plaid shirt wearing, lumberjack hipster type. I lifted my beer, signaling for another one.
“Alright man, but last one, OK?” He said with a feigned worried look on his face.
“Yeah, yeah. Sure. Of course.” I shot back, fumbling over my words, slurring like the drunk sad asshole I was.
I heard the door swing open behind me, and I craned my neck backwards to look, straining it in the process.
“Ah, fuck,” I whispered under my breath, rubbing the back of my neck.
It was my roommate and a girl with blonde hair whose name was certainly not Katie. She was barely able to keep herself upright as he held her with one arm wrapped around her lower back. Of course it was him. He just had to walk into the bar that I had been sitting in, stewing, depressed and sexually frustrated, drowning myself with enough beer to kill whatever blondie’s name was. Fucking James.
“Broooooo!” He saw me immediately and started making his way toward me, blondie in tow.
“Heyyyyy guys,” I said in the lousiest attempt to sound enthusiastic, maybe ever.
“The fuck are you doing here man? I figured you were back at the place. You here by yourself?” He replied, almost yelling, with that big dumb grin plastered over his face.
He just had to ask. Am I here by myself? What the fuck does it look like? Shit man. Now I have to make up some stupid excuse and skip over the part that I got stood up on a date. I wasn’t even embarrassed to say anything in front of the girl under his arm, I’d probably never see her again, except maybe tonight or tomorrow morning back at our apartment. I was more embarrassed to admit my failures to James. I couldn’t possibly bear feeling like any less of a man than I already felt in comparison to him. Even if half his life was some made up fairy tale, he was still tall and good looking, and clearly had no problem picking up chicks whenever he felt like it.
“He was supposed to meet some girl here but she never showed!” The bartender chimed in.
Are you fucking kidding me. Who the fuck did he think he was? What, in his Lumineers lyric filled brain, possessed him to out me like that so publicly?!
“Get me another fucking beer, dude.” I said sternly after chugging the remainder of my eighth beer and slamming it back down on the table.
“Hey man I told yo-” he began protesting, but before he could finish his thought, I was standing up out of my chair and holding up a $20 dollar bill an inch away from his face.
“Alright, ‘nother beer. Coming right up,” he surrendered.
“Thanks.”
“Hey man can I start a tab for me and my girl here? Two bud lights, thanks.” James said smoothly as he slid his carbon black American Express credit card across the bar table.
He claimed his credit card had no limit, and that one could only receive one by invitation only. Hell if I knew if it was true or not. I sat there and thought to myself, I could probably Google half or more of the things James claimed and see if they were true or not. Funnily enough, I didn’t care. It didn’t matter if they were or not, he was still taking a cute drunk blonde girl home tonight, and I wasn’t. All of it just added to his mystique, and as jealous as I might’ve been, I enjoyed playing along with the character that he had constructed for himself.
“…so fucking SEXY. You’re keeping the boots on when we get back.” James talked in what he thought was a whisper.
“Stopppppp,” she said, laughing.
I wanted to leave. To get in my car and drive a thousand miles away, but this was my life. I had to deal with it, somehow. I took a sip of my beer and laughed to myself quietly. I took another sip, this time my laugh audible to James and his girl thing. I chugged the rest of the beer, slamming it down even harder this time and burst into a full on gut wrenching laugh mixed with tears and alcohol filled sweat dripping from my forehead. Everyone was staring at me now, but I just kept laughing and crying, my hands on my face, moving up to my hair. Is this what a mental breakdown looked like?
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