After calling Shell and giving her an excuse about losing her keys, Vicki was feeling desperate for a drink. It was on days like this that she most struggled with her drinking – she was angry at the way Mick had treated her, but at the same time, she didn’t want him to get into trouble. Mick had been the first man in a long time to pay her attention. She just wanted the company. She’d been tempted to smooth the way with Mick via Facebook, but didn’t have the courage.
Vicki didn’t want to go out and leave her flat unlocked, but as Shell said she wouldn’t be able to come around until later –Vicki needed something to calm her nerves.
She threw on some jeans and figured the fifteen-minute journey to the shops would be OK. She rarely had trouble in her building and, if she ran there and back, she could probably do it in ten. She kept a small stash of money in an old coffee jar in the kitchen, her emergency fund. The tenner would get her a few bottles of White Lightning and she would ration it out, so she wasn’t totally off her face when Shell arrived. The hangover tomorrow would be enough to deal with, without having to listen to Shell preach about the drinking.
The trip to the shop was quick enough, the shopkeeper gave her a look – and said he hadn’t seen her for a while – but Vicki ignored him and handed over her money, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for the change. Back home, she grabbed a pint glass, filled it to the brim with the liquid she knew would ease her anxiety and put the remainder alongside the other bottle in her fridge. Taking a big gulp, Vicky stood perfectly still and felt relief as the cider took hold. She chugged the glass back so quick she need not have put the bottle back in the fridge in the first place. Once she got a taste, it wouldn’t be long before the first bottle had been consumed.
Vicki sat on the couch and turned on the cheap second-hand iPad she’d purchased at Cash Converters. Reduced drinking gave her some extra money. Vicki couldn’t afford Wi-Fi, so often jumped on the neighbours’ when they were foolish enough not to have a security password attached. Logging in to Facebook, Vicky scrolled through her timeline, the iPad screen already starting to shift in front of her eyes. She glimpsed an old post from Mick and decided to message him.
She saw that Mick had received and read the message. Another cider later and Vicki was getting angrier. Mick was being a prick and her previous worry about getting him into trouble was fading fast. She sent another message.
Again, no reply, despite the small picture of Mick beside her message telling her he had read and chosen it. She shoved the coffee table with her foot.
Fuck this dickhead. I’ve had enough.
Vicki didn’t even care if Mick was pissed off. The more alcohol that entered her bloodstream, the more memories from the past crept up and invaded her thoughts. Anger at all the men who had used and abused her, treated her like dirt, swirled into a ball. With a picture of Mick’s fucking face smack dab on the front. If he didn’t reply to this message, she knew exactly what she was going to do.
After downing nearly three litres of White Lightning, Vicki was struggling to see straight. Her body wasn’t used to the alcohol, after having reduced so much over the last few weeks. She almost missed her Facebook Messenger ping and, with unsteady hands, clicked on the message to read it:
Vicki debated whether to respond. The room swirled around her. She tried to think up a sarcastic response, but the words wouldn’t come and she didn’t want to make herself look like more of a twat. She slumped further into the sofa; her eyes felt heavy. Trying not to fall asleep. She managed to search YouTube for her favourite music and let the sound of Oasis take over.