Page 4 of Blackout

I remembered the drinks I’d poured into myself. It had seemed like a good idea at the time as I tried to unwind and tell myself it was okay to disappear from my life in Melbourne for a little while. I hadn’t consciously intended to end up at the only bar that was still open, Black’s Bar and Grill, when I’d rolled into town. There was nothing left for me here in Mulwala, but I guess the universe had other plans for me, and it included this small country town I’d once called home.

‘Oh my God,’ I groaned, more to myself than to the stranger in the room. My memory was a little hazy from last night, but I was sure the man in front of me was one of the bartenders. It wasn’t entirely his fault I felt the way I did this morning. I’d told him and the other bartender that I could handle my alcohol. But really, I should have known better.

‘You’re the cute bartender from last night,’ I managed to state the obvious to his hand. I was a little red-faced he had now seen me spew the contents I’d told him I could handle last night.

‘You need to take it easy.’ His deep voice deadpanned as he let the cute bartender comment slide. Then he dropped a bottle of water onto the bed beside me before he turned to flush my mess in the bathroom.

‘Because I threw up?’ When I looked up, I saw him nod.

‘Well, I’m fine,’ I stated, although I wasn’t sure who I wanted to convince, me or the man looking at me in concern.

‘You passed out in the bar,’ I was told as he leaned up against the door frame to the bathroom.

I could see him more clearly now that he was closer. His button-up shirt had the name of the bar, Black’s Bar and Grill, embroidered in white over his left pec muscle. A tattoo played peek-a-boo with the short sleeve of his work shirt, and the sight of him made my heart flutter then skip a beat. The tattooed bicep on his right arm had me wishing he would come closer, so I could have a look at the rest of the tattoo that was hiding under his shirt. Of what I could see, his tattoo was the start of armour similar to what knights wore.

There was something about the way he stood there staring at me that seemed familiar. I just couldn’t put my finger on it, not in the state that I was in. Was he checking me out the same way I was checking him out, trying to figure out if our paths had crossed before?

The man looking at me was tall and lean, well-groomed, with blemish-free skin. His features were dark, just like the clothes he wore. Had it been a couple of days since this man shaved or was this the normal amount of facial hair he wore?

‘Where am I?’ I was curious to know how I’d ended up in a bed. How had my night ended? In my inebriated state, had this man helped me stumble my way to wherever here was. Or had I really passed out when I’d spiralled out of control thinking about my life and adding fuel to the fire by the amount of alcohol I drank?

The bartender didn’t need to know my life currently sucked, and that for the last five years every day had been Groundhog Day. Now I was tired and looking for a change. But I didn’t want to be this woman who woke up in beds that weren’t mine. I wanted something more from my life. Whether I wanted to believe it or not, my being here was a cry for help, and the man who leaned up against the door frame had seen me crying for help as I drank my way into my passed-out state.

‘You’re in the accommodation that’s attached to the bar,’ I was told by the man who didn’t look very impressed.

Was he recalling last night like I was? ‘And you bought me here?’ I asked shyly, avoiding eye contact.

‘What else was I meant to do with you?’ His deep voice hardened, which made me look at him when he said, ‘This may seem strange to you, but not many people pass out around here. We serve alcohol responsibly at Black’s Bar and Grill, and most people who come to this bar know how to handle their liquor.’

I berated myself at how careless I’d been last night in my attempt to blow off steam. What would have happened if this weary-looking man hadn’t rescued me? Would I still be slumped on my stool at the bar, sleeping off my hangover? I wanted to swear off drinking for the rest of my life considering how I felt this morning. But alcohol wasn’t my problem. I was my own worst enemy, crying out for help and stuck in a Groundhog Day I didn’t know how to get out of.

With one eyebrow raised, he continued to talk, unaware of the silent conversation I was having with myself. ‘When no identification was found on you, I couldn’t leave you passed out at the bar. It’s not a good look for business. But I also couldn’t send you home either, as I don’t know where you live, so the hotel was the only option.’

I wasn’t like most people, and last night proved I didn’t handle my alcohol well. From the lecture I was in the middle of receiving, it seemed most people around here handled their alcohol responsibly. Or was that his job to make sure the patrons who came to this bar were sensible about their alcohol consumption? Did that mean he knew everyone in and around this town? The locals? And that I wasn’t one of the regulars?

‘And you stayed here with me? Why?’ I didn’t even know why I bothered to ask.

‘It’s not every day someone blacks out and a hotel room has to be offered up for a place to stay.’ The bartender smirked at me, then let out a little chuckle that kicked my heartrate up a notch. ‘There’s this little thing you may have heard of, it’s called a tab and …’

‘Oh my God! I didn’t pay my tab?’ I said with my face in my hands. He jests, and I am such an idiot, I thought as I scolded myself. He just wanted his money; why else would he be here? We were strangers. But why were notions of wanting to get to know him knocking on my consciousness?

And as if I hadn’t spoken at all, the bartender continued. ‘Yours was never closed out.’

‘Oh!’ I responded, removing my hands from my face and staring in his general direction. How embarrassing.

His chuckle was gone, and his poker face had returned. ‘I also wanted to know you were okay.’

My green eyes were locked on his brown eyes, and I could see there was something on his mind, something he needed to get off his chest.

‘There’s just one thing I’d like to know,’ he started. ‘Why does one do what you did and pass out in a bar?’

I gulped from the water bottle. His question had caught me off guard. How did I explain all of this? What would I tell him? Would he even understand the dilemma I had gotten myself into?

There was a small hitch to his eyebrow, a slight change in expression as he waited for me to answer. He scratched the stubble of his beard just under his ear, then along his jaw. So cool, so collected, I almost drooled on myself.

‘Lots of alcohol,’ was the first thing that popped out of my mouth. ‘I wanted to blow off steam,’ I said more to myself than to the man sharing this space with me. ‘And I guess I went a little too far.’ That came out as a whisper.

This man didn’t need to know how far I’d driven myself to blow off said steam, nor did he need to know about the latest dare, the one my sister had challenged me with: sing or lose everything I had worked hard for.