Liquor

Artist Jeff Hallman

Megan laid in Kevin’s bed wondering if this would be another night spent alone. She was starting to realize how big a mistake it was to move even closer to Leary’s Pub. The cool kid’s bar was now only two blocks away, how was he expected to resist? It wasn’t about the drinking. It was about the company. It was about maintaining social relevance. This was a crew everyone wished they were a part of, and Megan was just beginning to see that Kevin needed that validation more than any one.

Megan shifted positions for the bazillionth time, restlessly attempting sleep. She pulled her phone from it’s charging cord and checked the time: 3:34am. Still no sign of him, the night well on it’s way to morning. She wondered whether he’d taste of tequila or whiskey this time when he inevitably stumbled as quietly as he could into bed. If he tried to fuck her, she’d know it was tequila. He was always so sloppy, so selfish, when he came home. She wondered if he’d still be here if this were her bed, in her apartment, all the way uptown.

Here she was again. In his bed, waiting. For what…she couldn’t conceive anymore. Caught in this never-ending cycle, hoping that somewhere along the line, he will deviate away from the path he’s on, and join hers. But he won’t. That’s not what he wants. Megan laid flat on her back, exposed and vulnerable, as she realized this isn’t what she wanted either.

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