Chapter 22 – Drink You Away

Little Rock, Arkansas – September 15, 2014

Mel pressed her lips together, spreading the lip gloss she had just coated them with across the length of her lips. She put the cap back on the bottle, pushing the brush down and twisted it back on, shoving the lip gloss back into her makeup bag before using an index finger to wipe away the excess from the corner of her lips.

She placed her makeup bag back in the basket on top of the counter and looked up into the mirror. Seeing her made up face, already in her work uniform, with her hair piled up in a towel on top of her head, she sighed.

She hated this part of the morning – just after taking her shower, pulling her hair out of the coil on top of her head, and seeing it in the mirror.

It felt like she wasn't even staring at herself anymore.

She reached up and unwrapped the towel, letting the dark brown hair fall down to her shoulders.

At least she could say this was something she had done on her own, and not been forced to do – but that was the only thing she could say about it.

She grabbed the brush and started running it through her hair, hating the person staring back at her in the mirror. She had decided to dye it back in May. Just after her encounter with her not-new, but yet unknown neighbor, she could say she was spooked. She had no idea that, all this time, she had been living right next door to, of all people, a cop.

To anyone else, it would be a source of comfort. Even to an outsider like Gina, who knew the true story about what went on behind closed doors, it would seem like a comfort – an easy way for Melissa to find an escape from her shackles. In reality, it made Mel's precarious situation even more dangerous for her.

If Derek found out their neighbor's true profession, he would be spooked too – but he would turn into a crazed, frightened, threatened animal.

He had become even more unpredictable, as if Mel thought that was even possible. His drinking had ramped up. It had started back around April, after the concert, after their huge fight that had ended with what felt like a hundred bruises to cover up. Following the usual high and low of his moods, after the 'high' of the beating came the 'low' – the incredible guilt. A million apologies. Drunkenly staggering in after a night at the bar. The promises that he would never do it again – empty promises of course, because before he had even turned around, she had done something else wrong, which earned her another black eye or another bruise to cover up.

The highs had become so high that the lows got even lower – and eventually, he was out at the bar every night, for hours upon hours, drinking it all away. And instead of stumbling inside the door and putting himself to sleep by passing out, this time he had started stumbling straight to the recliner after grabbing a bottle of Jack, Jim, vodka, or even cheap wine if it was all they had around...anything to continue drinking.

Most nights she spent working ten- or twelve-hour shifts at the diner – still being punished by Victoria after missing so much work because of injuries she couldn't fake away or bruises she couldn't hide – only to come home as late as midnight and find him far past drunk and into alcohol-poisoning levels, debating whether to pile him into the car and take him to the hospital or let him sleep it off...secretly hoping that sleeping it off was the worst thing he could do and God would grant her a merciful exit out of Hell.

Every night, she decided that she couldn't take the risk of driving him to the hospital, for fear they would realize what he had been doing to her and call the cops. Every night, she dragged him up the stairs and into bed all by herself. Every night, she knelt down by the recliner and picked up empty glass and plastic bottles to put them into the trash, some nights even finding broken glass surrounding the chair from him stumbling and knocking over things.

He woke up later and later every morning, and every morning he woke up more hung over – and eventually, not to her surprise, he lost his job.

And for the past month, while he was left at home to do nothing but drink himself into a stupor, she had absolutely no escape from him. He was there when she left for work. He was there when she came home from work. There was no time that he was away from the house anymore, no time she could breathe a sigh of relief and feel safe for even a few minutes.

At night, after his messes were cleaned up and he was passed out snoring next to her, she laid in bed and wondered – could she slip on her shoes, tip-toe down the stairs, out the door, go next door, and end all of it? Could she manage to actually escape? Did she even want to? Had she somehow convinced herself that trying to escape would no doubt fail because for some sick reason, she wanted to stay?

It led to hours of pondering whether she kept herself in this situation because she wanted to punish herself for what she had done to Chris.

It sounded crazy even to her. She couldn't imagine being so self-hating that she would voluntarily keep herself in a dangerous, maybe even deadly, situation because she thought so little of herself and her life. But when she took a long look at her life, she realized it wasn't so crazy after all.

She hated herself. She thought of herself as worthless. She couldn't stand to look at herself in the mirror anymore. And when she looked deep, hard...she wished for death more than she wanted to admit.

She ran the brush through her hair once more before she lowered it to the counter. She lifted her hands and using her fingers, combed the dark brunette hair up, securing it with a ponytail holder.

Derek wasn't the only one who had lost himself and was still struggling to find his way back. So was she.

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Lexington, Kentucky – September 15, 2014

“Justin Timberlake, if you don't come out of that dressing room in five seconds I'll pull out the tear gas!”

“You don't have tear gas!” Justin's muffled voice came back through the door. “I ain't 'fraid of you, woman!”

Stephanie stomped her foot on the hard cement floor, letting out a muffled scream.

“Justin, I swear to God, I will hurt you!” she yelled. “I will walk in there, grab you by the hair, and drag you to the set if you don't come out right NOW!”

“Bring it!” Justin yelled back. “Do your worst! I dare ya!”

“Argh – Justin!” she yelled, letting out another throaty but muffled scream. “I am on the feeblest thread of my very last nerve and if you don't come out right now, I'll--”

“Justin, your hair is fine, now get the hell out of your room before they decide to do the video without you.”

Stephanie looked over to see Adeline standing next to her, looking at her with a grin.

“He doesn't respond to violence,” she said. “Play to his ego – it scares him a lot more.”

“If I have a mental breakdown and end up killing him,” Stephanie said, “will you testify in court that I was legally, criminally insane?”

“I can, but you know, for that to work you'd have to have been sane before he got on your last nerve,” Addy said. “Unfortunately, I don't think Lance will be willing to testify to that.”

“I--”

As Stephanie opened her mouth to react, she was surprised by the door in front of her opening, and Justin walking out, glancing at her.

“See, I'm done,” he said coolly. “Geez, Steph, go take a Midol.”

Adeline laughed as Justin walked away, leaving Stephanie fuming.

“It's so nice to be on the other side of this door for once,” Addy said.

“I'm done,” Stephanie said. “I quit. Ad, I can't be the tour assistant anymore. Here, you can have it back.”

Adeline held her hands up as Stephanie attempted to hand over her clipboard.

“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm officially out of the business. I am no longer anyone's personal assistant. For the next five months I am a baby incubator – after that, my only job is breastfeeding, changing diapers, and arranging playdates.”

“You know, every time you get knocked up, we're the only ones that suffer,” Stephanie said, pointing a finger in the air at Addy's chest. “But no more. Because if I have anything to do with it, Lance will not be procreating again anytime soon.”

Adeline smiled as Stephanie walked away, muffed, shoving Lance with her hand as she passed him and he tried to speak to her.

“...the hell is her problem?” Lance asked as he approached Addy, with a shocked look on his face.

“Growing pains of being a tour assistant,” Addy said. “Can I make a suggestion?”

“Huh?” Lance asked.

“If I were you, I'd wear a cup.”

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“I've tried Jack, I've tried Jim, I've tried all of their friends...”

Chris strummed the strings quietly on the acoustic guitar, letting his fingers fall violently on the strings one last time to make a harsh brummmmm sound before sighing. He looked up, seeing the rest of the boys milling around the new music video set – a Tennessee bar vibe.

“They need real alcohol here.”

He looked beside him, seeing a dark-haired female standing next to him, leaning against the bar twirling her finger around her thick glass.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Well, it's supposed to be a bar,” she said. “It's a song about Jack and Jim. You kind of expect Jack and Jim – not ginger ale.”

“It's not a...real bar,” he said.

“Clearly, because no self-respecting real bar would serve ginger ale in a whiskey glass,” she said.

He was silent a moment in confusion, until the corners of her mouth turned up.

“You know I was joking, right?” she asked. “Actually, more like striking up conversation. I mean, I'm not that dumb.”

“Oh,” he said with a slight laugh. “I probably should have picked up on that.”

“I'm Mila,” she said, holding her hand out for him to shake. “Mila Kunis.”

“Yeah,” he said with another chuckle. “I...uh...I know who you are. I'm Chris.”

“Yeah, I sort of gathered that,” she said as she shook his hand. “Seeing as I know Justin and I met JC, Lance, and Joey already.”

“That's right,” he said.

They both chuckled, each of them looking away from each other for a moment before she looked back at him.

“The only way this scenario will be complete is if one of us comes out with some really lame pick-up line,” she said.

“Oh, I don't know any of those,” he said. Suddenly, he narrowed his eyes at her. “Hey, is that a bruise on your cheek?”

The smile disappeared from her face as she touched her cheek where he was staring.

“Where?” she asked.

“Right here,” he said, touching the apple of her cheek softly. “Oh, I know what must have happened.”

“What?”

“You must have hit yourself when you fell from Heaven,” he said.

She rolled her eyes as relief washed over her face, eventually breaking out into a laugh.

“Oh, that was smooth,” she said. “Really, really smooth.”

“You asked, I delivered,” he said, a smug grin on his face.

As lame as it was, he could say that it was the first time he had truly laughed with a woman since...Melissa.

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“I don't like her.”

Adeline looked up from her book, looking at Stephanie in the director's chair next to her.

“What are you getting on about now?” Addy asked.

“Mila,” Stephanie said.

Adeline followed Stephanie's path of sight, seeing that she was staring at Chris and Mila, the female star of the video, next to the bar on the set.

“I don't like her,” Stephanie repeated.

“You don't know her,” Adeline said.

“I don't have to know her,” Steph responded. “She's here now, and I can already tell you I don't like her.”

“Yeah but you don't like most people. And there doesn't have to be a reason, either. You can dislike them on principle.”

“Oh, there's reasons,” Stephanie said. “I don't know them yet, but there's reasons. There's something about her.”

“God, here we go,” Addy said, her eyes traveling back to her book as she gingerly turned the page.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Steph said, glancing over at her friend with an accusing look.

Adeline sighed. “It's always something. You never know what it is, but it's something. Just something about her that you don't like. Just something that tells you two people are meant to be with each other. Classic example--”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, you're still bitter that I set you up with Lance even though it's four years later and you're married and deliriously happy and somehow in the middle of all your bitterness you got knocked up again. It's getting old, Ad.”

“For your information, I was going to say a classic example was back in college,” Addy said. “When you tried to set your roommate up with that guy from Alpha Epsilon Pi. What was your roommate's name again?”

“Heather,” Stephanie said, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Heather, that's right,” Addy said. “Heather Morris, she was the one who was studying German culture. And you didn't know that Alpha Epsilon Pi was a Jewish frat.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Steph said. “Not one of my shining moments. After that, I learned to do a little more research.”

“My point is, Lance and I withstanding, you don't have the best track record when it comes to following your gut feelings about people and situations. You need to re-tune your psychic radar.”

“Make fun of me,” Stephanie said. “But you mark my words...she is nothing but trouble. Just look at her.”

Adeline rolled her eyes, but looked up and over at Mila.

“Look at the way she's acting with Chris. She might as well wear a scarlet letter on her chest that says 'black widow'. A big, black 'M', for Maneater. The way she's puffing her ass up and wiggling it in front of him.”

Adeline shook her head as they stared, seeing Mila leaning against the bar, her behind sticking out as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other.

“She's laughing at all of his jokes – when we all know that Chris isn't that funny.”

“Oh yeah,” Addy said sarcastically. “There's no way she could actually be amused by him.”

“He's funny, but he's not 'ass wiggling' funny,” Stephanie said. “She's doing that allure thing.”

“Allure...thing?” Addy asked.

Stephanie batted her eyelashes, puffing out her lips and throwing her hand up in an exaggerated pose.

“Oh, Chris, you're so hilarious,” she said in a high-pitched voice. “Take me back to your dressing room and bend me over the table.”

“You're vulgar,” Addy said.

“Oh, Lance,” Stephanie said, her voice slightly lower and more seductive. “I love your sexy green eyes. Your wife is asleep – take me back to the set, throw me up on the bar, and--”

“Enough,” Addy said. “You're making up stories in your head again because you've been reading too many trashy novels.”

“I have not,” Stephanie said insistently. “I don't need things like that anymore, I have a most exciting sex life, thank you.”

“Gross,” Addy said. “I don't want to know. It's bad enough just taking wild guesses.”

“That woman,” Stephanie said, pointing at Mila. “She is going to destroy Chris if he lets her come anywhere near him. She will lure him in, have her way with him, devour him, chew him up, and spit him out.”

“I'd like to live inside your head for one day,” Addy said, smiling. “It's probably like the dark version of Candyland. It has to be fun.”

They both went quiet as the director called for complete silence on the set, signaling Mila and the boys to their places. Adeline watched with a smile as Stephanie scowled, her legs crossed in front of her, watching as cameras moved in and they prepared to do even more shooting. She went back to her book, but had only managed to read a paragraph before the music started playing in the background and she distractedly looked up to see the filming.

Her eyes couldn't help but move to Lance, who had taken his place at the pool table to play his rousing, fake game with JC. She watched as he reared the cue back in his hand, pushing it forward and sending the cue ball spinning towards the balls and spreading them across the table with a loud crack. On the director's prompt, both JC and Lance's eyes moved to Mila, walking through the door of the bar in her short jean shorts, shaking her hips back and forth with a sway.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, she felt a pang of jealousy hit her.

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Little Rock, Arkansas

“Table thirteen – order up!”

Melissa blew a stray wisp of hair out of her face as it fell in front of her eyes when she leaned down to scrub the sponge against the plate in her hand. Sweat dripped down her forehead as she fought to stay cool against the steamy temperature of the kitchen as George cooked, in addition to the temperature of the dish water.

“Heya, Vic,” Gina said as she blew through the swinging doors of the kitchen, smacking her gum in her mouth. “Ya wanna take my tables for me? Just for a couple minutes?”

“I'm not here to do your job for you, Gina,” Victoria said. She held a clipboard in her hand as she ran her hands over the shelves of boxes; it was her regular inventory night.

“Come on, I just need a little break,” Gina said.

“You can take your little break when your regular break comes up,” Victoria said.

“Vic, not that kind of break,” Gina said. “I need a ladies' break.”

Mel glanced over to see the two of them standing next to each other, in the beginning of what could become a classic Gina-to-Victoria showdown.

“A ladies' break?” Vic asked.

“You know, a trip to the...” Gina lowered her voice, glancing back to make sure that George wasn't listening too closely. “...little girls' room.”

“You gotta pee, do it on your own time,” Victoria said, not bothering to lower her voice. “I'm not here to hand out hall passes.”

“No, Vic,” Gina said insistently. “You're not understanding. I gotta go to the ladies' room.”

Victoria stared at Gina for a long time before rolling her eyes, setting the clipboard on top of a stack of the boxes.

“Like it's a fucking code,” Victoria said, grabbing a spare apron off a hook and wrapping it around her waist. “Some big secret.”

Melissa chuckled slightly as she watched Gina bounce, and Victoria succumb, annoyed.

“Next time you get your period, give me a cheat sheet of the hieroglyphs beforehand, so I can be prepared,” Victoria asked before she walked away, preparing to take over Gina's job as waitress.

“She's in a pissy mood again today,” Gina said, smacking her gum as she walked toward Melissa. “Guess it's a good thing I also didn't ask 'er for a tampon, huh?”

“She mighta thrown it at you,” Melissa said.

“Well, I guess I'll hafta ask you, then,” Gina said. “Do ya have one I can take?”

Mel looked up to see Gina already heading toward her purse on the hook.

“No, sorry Gina,” she said. “Guess you'll have to ask Vic after all.”

Gina paused, turning to look at Melissa.

“You didn't have any last month either,” she said, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her apron. “Isn't that weird, Mel?”

“That you can't seem to bring your own feminine products to work with you? Maybe a little,” Mel said with a slight smile.

“No, that when I ask, you don't seem to have any of your own to give out,” Gina responded. “Two months in a row.”

Melissa looked away.

“Melissa?” Gina asked. “Are you...?”

Melissa lifted her hands out of the water, giving them a quick shake. She used her apron to wipe her hands, quickly walking through the kitchen and bursting through the swinging door, avoiding the glances from Gina and George.

“Oh, shit,” Gina said as she turned to look at George.