Corner Table || Rupert & Robert
(TW: Mentions of drugs and drug abuse. Do not read on if you are triggered)
Rupert could feel himself retracing his steps, from the previous night, and the night before that. And the night before that. At least as far he could remember, though that wasn’t a long length of time, given Rupert’s particular craving for the little pills he stashed in the locked drawer of his bedside table. He found that certain kinds would act the same as him getting drunk enough to blackout. He wouldn’t remember a single thing from the night, and even better, he wouldn’t feel sick or hungover. He could see the way it was affecting his memory, in the way he seemed to see himself taking the same steps over and over, down the street. He felt as though he had simply been pacing the walk from his rundown apartment, to the bar, that he had spent the past hour walking back and forth, as the light faded around him and the people hurried past, caught up in their own lives. They didn’t see the strange way he moved backwards, though he faced forwards.
He felt as though the ground he was walking along was scarred with footsteps, the paths of a thousand souls. People who were content with just following the paths laid out for them, the same trail that had been walked many times before. Even in such a young city, Rupert could feel the lives travelling along with him. Of course, the burden was far less than the dirt paths of his home town. These roads were paved with promises and opportunities. Promises that would be broken, opportunities turning to perversion, but everyone carried themselves so differently here. As though nothing would stop the people from carrying about their business, nothing would break their hearts, ruin their lives.
The path was growing longer now, stretching out before Rupert as though it would last forever. And then Rupert found himself sitting in the corner of the bar, a hole, really, with no recollection of pushing the door open, the door with the stupid little bell that he longed to tear off. He thought he remembered sitting down, but then realized that memory was from the night before, for he had been wearing a different sweater. Maybe this was the same one, he had simply forgotten to change within the past two days. It had happened before.
Rupert found himself face to face with the tall glass of beer, a drink he normally avoided at all costs. Had he actually ordered one, without realizing it? He was usually better at remembering the conversations he had with others. That was what he tried his best to keep in his mind. Other people were just so wonderfully distracting, so distanced from the terrors threatening to take over his mind. Especially the people here, Rupert found. So many of them seemed so shallow and simple minded, that it was like watching a movie for Rupert. They lived simple lives, with basic needs and desires, all infused with the golden glow of Hollywood. Even the ones who claimed that they weren’t in LA for the glamour or the fame, they were infected by it too. This was the capital of escapism and dreams, and Rupert took every advantage of it.
Soon the beer was gone, faster than Rupert expected, and he was sitting with a glass of gin and tonic, nursing it as slowly as possible. He knew that if he drank too fast, with the pills he had taken, he would be face first on the floor. And as nice as it would be to throw off all the confines of society and simply do what he wanted, Rupert didn’t much fancy the idea of getting awfully sick, and risking an overdose. He experimented with his “medication,” that was for sure, but he felt as though he was qualified to take such risks on himself, for he was a doctor. But he never risked overdosing, at least not in public.
Why was he here? He had to take a moment to think on the answer to that question, his thoughts interrupted by the jingling of that stupid, fucking bell overtop the doorway. He pulled his gaze away from the glass of his drink, to look at whomever was entering, unable to help the frown on his face. He realized, though, that it was only Robert, one of the few regulars that Rupert could stand to drink with. Or at least next to. Rupert hadn’t offered up any conversation to the other man, yet, and he was still contemplating if he was worth it. He was better than most. He rarely started fights, like some of the new customers, the ones who travelled from bar to bar, looking for some sort of place to sort out their pent up rage. And he wasn’t like those sleazy suits, who brought with them a gaggle of people, giggling girls who wore too much makeup. Those people were so painfully bright, that Rupert had a hard time looking at them without getting a headache. It was why he had chosen this particular place as his regular watering hole. Rundown and quiet, it rarely was frequented by random foot traffic, and the bartender already knew Rupert’s usual drink, though he was still confused as to why he had gotten a beer first.
The waitress returned, and the sight of her face made Rupert’s memory come back to him. She was a new waitress, he had never seen her before, and she had the same eyes as a girl he knew, years ago. Eyes he thought he could escape with the drugs and the drinking. No wonder he had panicked and ordered the first thing he could think of, a plain beer. When she asked him if he wanted anything else, he glued his eyes to the table, not letting them go for a moment.
“No.” He said quietly, hoping she would leave. A thought crept down from his brain and into his mouth. “But I’m buying the man over there his next two drinks.” Rupert said, gesturing to Robert. If he was going to be especially lonely tonight, might as well be lonely with someone else, he figured. The waitress nodded, and turned her eyes away from him, giving him relief. He waited for Robert to be told that Rupert had bought his drinks, not wanting to disturb the man if he didn’t want to have company tonight. Rupert understood that feeling too. But he hoped that Robert wasn’t picky tonight.
