apartmentalsufferingselfparas

[apartmentalsufferingselfparas]

His hands were shaky, but not with nerves. He was angry, and that anger was becoming visceral with every passing minute. 

“Can you believe that? She isn’t going to represent me,” Fletcher scoffed, pacing back and forth. Pacing was one of the habits that manifested when his mind was racing, and he couldn’t think of a time where he was more qualified to win a NASCAR cup, than now.

“I know, it’s fucked,” Day said, as she sat on her couch, knees up to her chest. Her large green eyes followed him back and forth like one would a hypnotist’s fingers. “And I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, Fletch, but maybe - just maybe she has a reason. Y’know? Conflict of interest, or something. I think I saw that on an episode of Law and Order once.”

Fletcher rolled his eyes dramatically at her words. “Is that shit even real?” He asked, not really caring for an answer, more so continuing to let out his frustrations. “Even if it is, who gives a shit. She said herself this would be a throw-away case - it’s not serious - so why wouldn’t she represent me? God, I didn’t even tell you the worst fuckin’ part, Day,” he said, stopping when he’d reached the center of the living room. He turned to face her and put a hand in his messy hair. “She wants me to turn myself in. Like she wants me to go to the police station and let them arrest me.”

Day’s eyes grew wide at his words. She bit the inside of her cheek, feeling a little in over her head. As awful as it sounded, what he was relaying to her, she couldn’t help but feel like his lawyer-girlfriend knew what she was talking about. Of course, she also knew that while his lawyer-girlfriend was probably right, that’s not what he wanted to hear right now. 

“Yikes,” she breathed out. A few moments had passed where they looked at each other in silent disbelief at both the idea and the situation. “Are you gonna?”

He knew his options were limited. He couldn’t run, that would only make things worse. He didn’t want to turn himself in, but it was either that, or flea. And that would cause a whole mess other things to worry about. 

He let out a sigh, and slouched a bit; the oxygen helping to regulate his adrenaline. “I need a drink,” he let out quietly, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t be here anyway, it’s only a matter of time before the cops come banging on my door, and when I don’t answer, they’ll come here to bang on your door again.” He reached for his jacket that was balled up beside her. ‘Comin’?” He asked, slipping it on and heading for the door. 

Her heart sank at his question, and her throat was suddenly parched. Her head began to spin, as she lowered her eyes and thought about his offer.

“No pressure, I get if you don’t want to hang out with a wanted man,” Fletcher half-joked, opening the front door. 

“If you’re buying,” Day snapped up, grabbing her own coat and following behind him.

***

“This is really fuckin’ bad, Day,” Fletcher said, burying his face into his hands that where perched up by his elbows on the damp bar counter. “It’s more than just this one piece of evidence,” he muttered, moving his hands to cross in front of him. He was now blankly staring at the three pints of beer he’d drank over the last half hour.

Beside him, sat Day, who truth be told, had stopped listening to him the second they walked through the bar’s doors. It had been over a year since she’d been in a bar, and the last several weeks had brought her close to breaking her sobriety multiple times. But she hadn’t; and there she sat, legs dangling off of the bar stool, hands resting on her lap as she stared at the single, full pint of beer that sat in front of her the entire time. 

Throughout Fletcher’s ramblings, the only thing she could do was keep her eyes on the pint; condensation forming little beads that she studied as they raced to the base of the glass cup. The foam of the beer had eventually subsided, and she could imagine how the amber liquid would feel running down her throat. She wanted it so badlythat had she put the glass to her lips she would have drank it so quickly and so ferociously that ribbons of liquid would have slipped past the corners of her lips and down her chin.

“Other guys who do this - we all talk, you know,” Fletcher continued, hailing the bartender for another pint. “The cops - for guys like us, they don’t arrest us after one time. They build cases. Case after case, they collect evidence. From multiple “crime scenes” or whatever the fuck they want to call them - until they have enough that it’s no longer a minor offense.” He spewed off, shoulders sinking as he said aloud what he knew was coming once he did turn himself in. “This isn’t some petty crime bullshit anymore. Lia doesn’t get that - she just fuckin’ thinks that we - I mean she because God knows I can’t afford it - she can pay my bail and get one of her ass-coworkers to represent me out of goddamn pitty. Are - are you listening to me, Day?” He asked, looking over at her for the first time since they’d gotten there. 

She snapped out of her daze when she felt his eyes shift over to her slouched position. “Huh? Oh - yea, shit - sorry, Fletch,” she shook head. Licking her lips and swallowing the spit that pooled up in her mouth while she fantasized about what it would be like to sip on the pint in front of her, she looked away from him and back to her drink. 

“Fletch - look,” she started, with a sigh. “I know - shit.” Day took a deep, shaky breath. What she wanted to tell him was that his lawyer-girlfriend was right. No matter what they were charging him with, petty crime or not - she was right. But she couldn’t, because the only thing she could think about, was the beer in front of her, and the smell of the kegs behind the bar, and the cigarette smoke outside, and what it would feel like to submit. 

“I’m sorry - I haven’t really… I’m sure what you’ve been saying makes a lot of sense. But - fuck,” she got out, her breath wavering. “I’m a recovering alcoholic, and I’ve spent the last half hour fighting every muscle in my body to not drink what’s in front of me - and fuck. I’m sorry, I wasn’t really listening to what you were saying.” She admitted, her green eyes fixated on the pint in front of her.

“What? Fuck, Day,” Fletcher responded, reaching over to the pint in front of her and taking it for himself. “Can we get her a coke or something?” He called to the bartender who obliged and did just so.

“And honestly - what else are you gonna do, Fletcher? You really can’t run. Not unless you want to be a felon.” She shrugged, giving the bartender a pursed lipped smile and a head nod as a silent thank you. She reached for the coke, the cool glass wet with condensation. Taking a sip, a world of disappointment raged from her throat.

Fletcher took in what she was saying, and downed half of the pint he’d taken from in front of her. He knew she was right; his hands were tied. 

“And,” she continued, “Cut your lawyer-girlfriend some fricken’ slack, will you? She’s trying to help you. There has to be a reason she won’t represent you. So be an adult, suck it up, and take what she can offer. Do you know how lucky you are to have a lawyer connection? They’re not fricken cheap,” she took another sip of the soda.

He looked at her with a crooked grin. “Damn, all it took was for you to reveal a secret, huh? Ruthless,” he downed the rest of the pint. He pulled out his phone, and began to text Lia that he was on his way to the police department. Standing up, he took out his wallet and left cash on the counter. “You gonna’ be okay?” He asked.

“With this crisp coke? How could I not?” She retorted. “Have fun in the slammer. If you’re really still mad at lawyer-girlfriend and don’t want to talk to her, I’ve always wanted to be someone’s only call from jail so fell free to give me a ring. I can’t help you in there, but it’d make my dreams come true,” Day called out at him as he walked towards the door. 

Her words made him chuckle, genuinely chuckle for the first time in two days. He shook his head and threw up a middle finger as he shook his head, jokingly.

And then he was gone. 

Day sighed, her eyes looking down at the coke in her hands. Turning her head from the door and back to the bar tender, she called him over. “Can I get another one of those?” She asked quietly, pointing to the empty pints beside her.