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“The connections between and among women are the most feared, the most problematic and the most potentially transforming force on the planet.”
Adrienne Rich
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Jules

I resist the strong urge to scream as I watch my best friend take what is probably her tenth glass of alcohol. For all I know, it might even be more than that. The dazed look in her eyes is an obvious sign that she’s way past her limit.

On spotting me, she breaks into a laugh that might as well have come from a madwoman. I almost leave the pub in embarrassment as every eye is now focused on her and the subject of her laughter, which in this case is me.

I give her a death stare even though I know it is useless. In her current state, I am sure a death stare resembles a bright smile to her.

I inwardly prepare myself to drag her out of here even as I calmly walk to where she’s seated, sprawled out like she’s in her living room.

However, on getting there, ready to drag or push or carry her fat ass out, I find myself being dragged into the opposite seat by the person I had planned to drag out of this place.

What a reverse in situation!

"Hey bestie!” she chirps annoyingly even as she returns to her sprawled-out position on the wooden chair.

Earlier, in my head, it seemed easy to get Metisha out of here. However, as I watch her tell the waitress with something close to a scream to serve me a mug of beer, I find myself being held down in my seat by some unknown force, unable to fulfill my mission.

"You called me."

"Yes, I did. Sit down. Join me in my drinking spree." She winks.

"Your face is so red. Just for how long have you been drinking?"

"Haven't had a sip," she says on a hiccup.

"Liar."

"I'm not lying," she says, her tone defensive. One would have thought I just told her she had robbed a bank.

"Do I look drunk to you?"

"Well... apart from the red face and empty bottles, you don't."

"Of course I don't. Your twin sister's beautiful, by the way."

I blink twice. "Uhn?"

"Isn't the lady seated beside you your twin sister?" she asks, pointing her scaringly long nails at the air beside me.

"Uh... I don't know what you talking about cos I'm the only one sitting here."

"Idiot, can't you see the lady sitting cross-legged and wearing a blue dress?"

"The only person seated cross-legged and wearing a blue dress here is me," I respond with a sigh.

She definitely isn't drunk.

"Really?" she asks, squinting, and I throw her a glare.

"Why would you drink so much?"

"I told you I'm not drunk!"

"You are too."

"I am not!"

Too tired for her bullshit, I look her dead in the eye with the hope that her toxin-filled brain understands me.

"Look, if there is anyone who should be drinking between the both of us, it's me. I'm sure your day isn't as bad as mine."

"Did you confess your feelings to your brother?" she asks out of nowhere.

"Firstly, that's an odd question. Secondly, I don't have a brother. And even if I did, I wouldn't have feelings for him let alone confess it. I mean like, ew, we're talking about my sibling here."

"Well, I did."

"You did what?" I take a sip of my beer, mentally preparing myself for the load of crap I'm sure is about to come out of theer mouth.

"I confessed my feelings to my brother."

I rub at my face, wondering if I should just call Vincent, who is presently outside, to come load this girl into the car.

"See? You are so drunk you can't even remember you are an only child."

“For the umpteenth time, I am not drunk!”

"For the umpteenth time, you are drunk!” I clap back.

"So childish.” A drunk elderly man with a beard that looks so unkept I can't help but wonder what grows in them drawls out from the table beside us.

Metisha gives me a look that seems to says ‘this is all your fault.’

I open my mouth to say something in defense but she beats me to it.

“Look, all you have to do is listen to my gibberish and then when I’m done talking, decide if it’s trash or not.”

I remain silent mainly because none of what she just said sounds like drunken nonsense.

"So I happened to go to church today for confession...”

“You? Church? Confession?” I ask, finding it hard to believe what I had just heard.

Seemingly unperturbed by my surprised tone, she continues,

“Oh yes. I went to The Holy Trinity Church to confess…”

"Wait a minute,” I hold up a finger to stop her from talking.

“Holy Trinity? Isn’t that Father Nathaniel’s church?”

"Yes, it is. And before you go all holier-than-thou on me, I only went there to confess my sins and… well, my feelings because I felt guilty having them in the first place. And maybe I because I wanted him to know how I felt for him?” she says with a nonchalant tone of voice.

"Metisha!” I yell, shocked at her audacity.

"What? It’s not like he accepted them. Plus, he can’t accept them even if he wanted to.”

"Well, duh, that’s cause he’s a priest.”

"Yeah, that and one other reason.”

I tilt my head a little to the left, trying to make sense of her last statement.

“Uh…you lost me there.”

"Welcome to the highlight of my story.”

"Uhn? You mean you confessing your feelings to a priest isn’t the highlight?”

“No, it’s not,” she says with that mischievous grin. However, I couldn’t help but feel like something was off.

"So, after confessing my feelings and getting rejected, I left the church, and on my way to the parking lot, I met the last person I was expecting. Paige.”

"Your mother?”

"Yes. I’m sure I had the same surprised look like the one on your face right now.”

"So, what was she doing there?”

At my question, Metisha releases a heavy sigh and pouts. All at once, her eyes glazes over and she drops her head on the table with a somewhat loud thud.

The drunk man who had earlier called us childish winces at this contact.

I look at him, pissed off that he keeps making our business his business, only to see that he is already asleep again.

I swear you meet all kinds of people at the pub.

I hear a sniff and return my attention to Metisha, whose head is still on the table.

"Are you okay?” I ask.
Neither does she answer nor does she look up.

Suddenly feeling exhausted, I lean forward and try to get her to lift her head but she refuses to budge.

"Want me to call your dad over?”
This gets her head shooting up even before I could complete the statement. And this is when I see the tears streaming down her face.

"And why would you do that? What do I look like? A sixteen-year-old girl who just got her heartbroken for the first time?”

"Actually, yes. Now would you mind telling me the reason for those tears? The Metisha I know never lets anything stain her makeup, not even tears.”

"Gosh. You make me sound so vain.”

"That’s because, my darling, you really are vain.”

She tries to look like she's vexed at the comment, only to end up giggling. I take this as a sign to continue my teasing.

“I’m sure if you knew you were gonna cry today, you wouldn’t have worn mascara,” I say, pointing at the black tears.

"Oops. Is it bad?”

"Um…How about we go wash it off.”

"I guess it’s really bad.”

I give her a slight nod and she smiles. On my part, I am so very much happy I wouldn’t have to drag her out of here.

"I have horrible memories of this place,” she says as we enter the restroom.

"Really?” I ask innocently only to receive a ‘you know what I’m talking about’ glare.

"Gah! Who’s that teary-eyed witch?” she suddenly yells.

I look at who she’s referring to and, to my amusement and annoyance, discover that it’s her reflection. “The teary-eyed witch is no other than you, Metisha Thompson.”

"You don’t feel like puking, do you?” I ask her, scared that she might decide to take revenge for what I did to her some months ago.

A feeling of relief washes over me as she answers in the negative.

“Good. Let’s wash your face and get out of here.”

"Yeah, let’s do that.”

We leave the restroom a little later than I had presumed because Metisha did puke, really hard.

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Had I been Metisha, would have puked on Jules to make her know what being puked on feels like.

Just kidding😊

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It's a double update, cupcakes 😉