Prozac

Relapse. I find myself crawling up from under a mass of tangled sweaty bodies. The heat of the night must have taken its toll; I can feel the sweat oozing out from my forehead. My clothes are drenched with sweat and smell of cigarette smoke. My lips taste of Bourbon and my hands smell of soap.

I am dizzy and I don't know where I am. I don't remember how I got here.

Techno music in the background. I can see lights flashing all around me. Someone grabs my bottom and I politely turn him down. I am in no mood for foreplay. My eyes are red from all the smoke and my pupils diluted from all the heavy music.

What is that music doing to me??? That pounding I hear, it hurts me.

I casually flip open my hand phone and there are 4 unread messages. Text messages that have been left unread since dinner. I don't remember what I was doing before this. These messages do not make any sense to me; I don't remember asking Danny to meet me at Crown, nor remember promising Mike that I’ll email him the forms. I realise the time is now 4.20am and my legs feel weak. The carpet on which I stand is filled with stains. I'll bet it smells as funky as the sweaty boys dancing avidly on the dancefloor.

This place. I am not aware of the surroundings. The paintings on the wall and the plasma screens flashing images that I am not familiar with. Blinking lights again. People chatting heavily and happily. Where am I?

The cold pavement outside is not very hospitable to my bottom. I realise I slipped on a jock on a 4 degree night. My bottoms come into contact with the cold concrete surface but I couldn't be bothered to sit anywhere else. The benches in a distance are occupied by drags; I don't want to mess with their silicone implants and wigs. I have no mood.

I dial the first number on my handphone. Nobody answers. Nobody is going to come to take me home. My wallet smells of Coke. I must have spilled some onto the leather when I fished out notes to pay the bartender. I don't have enough bills to pay for a cab home. All I have is a handful of spare change and faded supermarket receipts that I had casually slipped into my wallet after walking away from the cashier days ago.

The walk back is painful. My head is dizzy and I can feel a tingling sensation in my fingers. The cold is getting to me. I need relief. I need warmth.

I catch sight of a bar in the distance. There’s no music coming from it, only wild barbaric chants and songs that sound like Waltzing Matilda. I can barely make out whether there are people inside. The windows are too frosted with dew.

I had forgotten that it is soccer night. A sea of green and yellow people greet me inside. Roars coming from the crowd, beer being poured like there was no tomorrow, girlfriends casually bitching about their love life as their boyfriends huddle up close to a small telly attached to the wall on one of the pillars.

Sorry mates. I don't like soccer. I've never understood the game. I'm too sophisticated for simple games such as this.

Nice warm Mocha in my hands. I feel the taste of slightly burnt coffee on my lips. Idiot. My grandfather could have made better coffee. A man walks past me and gives me the grin but I just return a nonchalant sigh. I manage to smile slightly though, as I hand three greasy dollar coins to the cute waiter. He must be Jewish; his haircut looks like something out of the 50's.

I find myself braving the cold once more. More shouts from the alley ahead. They must have scored a goal.

Someone forgot to sweep the front porch. Maple leaves strewn all over the cobble stones make a rustling sound when I step on them. The front patio is illuminated with the glow of the sodium street lamp and the shadows in the distance startle me. Stupid cat. Get the hell out of my porch.

Warm water in my face. Fuck the water saving rules. I know what's best for me and that is a 30 minute hot shower. Scents of avocado and lavender from my shampoos.

What am I doing here?

Sitting on the floor of the shower booth I realise that I'm at it again. I'm crying.

My room mate must have been sleeping for ages. That drool on his face is not a very welcoming sight. As I slip into my bed and tuck myself tight under the sheets, I remembered what I had set out to do and how I had landed in that noisy place. I remembered the sequence of events that led me there. I remember my naked body pressed against his. I remember him promising me that he’ll make me happy. He must have broke his promise.

Prozac to give me chemical confort. I hope I don't remember any of this when I wake up. I hope it will all go away.