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way.
     

     
     

Seven
    Jack
    We really messed up.
    She said she wanted to do something crazy. Which pretty much turned out to be code for ‘let’s fuck everything up.’ It always had. And for the most part, I played right into it.
    ‘Operation let’s fuck everything up’ first began when we arrived at a little hole in the wall, dive bar, where Amelie insisted that I take a shot with her. “Just one.” She pleaded all doe-eyed, innocently beckoning my demise.
    Did I mention that I hate bars? Well, this place, I’m pretty sure is the worst of them all. It was dank and musty and dimly lit. Not to mention, crowded and loud—all of the things I abhor. Out of all the nicer more upscale places we could’ve chosen along the way, she picked this one. Only God knows why.
    “I heard the music was good here.” Amelie leaned in close to say as though she’d read my mind. “Come on, one shot—maybe two for me and then we’ll go…” She begged as she yanked on my hand.
    “What are we, twenty-two again?
    “Twenty-two, thirty-two? Who cares! Let’s have fun, Jacky!””
    I hate it when she calls me that. And she knows it too, which is why she only does it after she’s had one too many. “Jack.” I correct her. “And you may be thirty-two, but I’m not.”
    “Oh yeah… you’re soooo old.” She told me slurring her words as she spoke, having already cleaned out the mini-bar back at the hotel.
    I watched as she ordered two shots. When the bartender placed them on the bar, she picked one up and shoved it in my direction. I tilted my head and considered her for a moment. “You know I don’t drink.”
    She waved me off. “You always say that! But I’ve seen you have one or two here and there. So—you can’t exactly call yourself a teetotal,” she told me as she clinked my glass with hers and eyed me expectantly. She looked so enthusiastic that I thought ‘ah, what the hell’ and I slammed the shot back. I didn’t use a chaser and neither did she. I didn’t drink it solely because she insists. There were eyes on us and I sensed them watching curiously. And while I had never been one to conform or to cave to the pressure of the crowd, I drank it because I knew one drink wouldn’t kill me. Still, there was the fact Amelie had always had this way of making me do what she wanted. It was what I both loved and hated about her.
    It turned out, however, that my assumption about one not killing me turned out to be almost wrong. One led to another as it usually does. Three shots in, and not only do I probably look like a lightweight, but I also felt like one, too. It hit me then that I hadn’t eaten dinner, and when you combine a lack of adequate food consumption with not being a drinker to begin with, the combination equals an easy drunk.
    Amelie watched me for a moment and then she shimmied up close and whispered in my ear. “Let go, Jack. Just let go a little.” And her voice was so smooth and she smelled so good that I forgot there was ever any other choice.
     

     
    It was cold out and all I could think about was going back to the hotel because if there was anything I didn’t like, it was the feeling I had lost control. My head was swimming, my stomach churning and yet we’d just arrived at our second bar of the night where, once again, Amelie had demanded we order drinks. I told her I was good. By this point, I was certain I’d said this a few times. But it didn’t stop her. She left me standing there and then returned holding two beers, wearing a huge grin on her face. This bar was different from the last place—it was a little more modern, only with crappier music and more expensive, over-priced drinks.
    As I was considering my exit strategy, she took my hand, and I realized I’d forgotten how well we fit together. All of a sudden, I looked up and she was leading me to the edge of the dance floor. I studied her profile as she propped herself against a metal beam and eyed the crowd. I think some