Music Monday: The Fourth Drink Instinct by Cute is What We Aim For

A fictional interpretation of a song by Cute is What We Aim For

She didn’t drink.

At least that’s what she told herself. Just this once. She’d think. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and these were desperate times.

It started when she lost the ring. It wasn’t new, had been in the family for years, and was more valuable than she could ever hope to be. She had seen the way her sister-in-law-to-be had looked at her left ring finger the night they announced their engagement.

“You’re so lucky.” She had said, a glass of champagne in her manicured hands. “I always thought I would get the ring, but my dear older brother had to show me up yet again and be the first to get engaged!”

She had laughed, but it was the kind of laugh you weren’t supposed to laugh along with. It was the kind of laugh you were supposed to be afraid of.

And then she had lost the ring which was already bad enough. 

But it was only an omen for the trouble ahead.

Three days and one extraordinary fight over the lost ring later, she found her fiancé in bed with a man.

“I’m sorry.” He had said. “You weren’t supposed to see this. You weren’t supposed to know… Nobody can ever know about this, okay? I’ll still marry you if you want.”

I’ll still marry you if you want. She wasn’t sure what hurt worse: his cavalier attitude toward their marriage or the fact that their entire relationship had been built upon lies.

She called off the wedding, and moved out of his apartment the next day. She hadn’t lived alone in seven years, but she found she could quickly find company at the bar just below her apartment. A few drinks, and she wouldn’t even have to think about it. Or anything. She would only feel.

“Hey, you wanna get outta here?” The guy sitting next to her at the bar asked.

His features were blurry, his intentions were even more so, but she didn’t care. All she knew was that his touch on the small of her back was setting off flames of desire, and erasing her loneliness.

“Yes.” She said. “My place is upstairs.”

She took his hand and led the way thinking, he wants me. There’s a lot of guys here, but he wants me not them. And that was good enough for her.

They fumbled around in the dark until they found the bed, and afterward, before she fell asleep, as she lay naked in the stranger’s arms, she thought this is nice. I’m not alone anymore.

But in the morning the stranger was gone, leaving only his imprint on the bed and the smell of sex behind. She didn’t even know his name. She pretended not to care. And when night fell, she returned to the bar.

“I think you’ve had enough, little lady. You’re better off sober anyway.” The bartender said when she asked for her third vodka cranberry. “One of these days, you’re gonna get ‘cher self hurt real bad.”

“No, no. Just one more. One more is all.” She said. “I’m not drunk I promise. Just one more, one more.”

But it wasn’t just one more. It never was.

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