"That's all I could do," Deacon dropped his head in shame.
There were balls of paper covering his feet and other attempts he had made while trying to sketch me. You can tell that he hadn't drawn in some time: the shaky lines and oblong faces to the langolier-like fingers. I looked back over at him to see his head still hanging low.
"Hey, maybe I can come by after hours, and you can use me to practice until you get it right," I offered, "I'm sure it's like riding a bike, right?"
"Don't you have to work?" he asked.
"No, I don't work," I stated, "I could if I wanted to, but I don't."
His confusion shined, "H-How-"
"Buy me a drink, and I'll tell you all about it," I interrupted.
"You don't need me to buy you a drink, remember?" he joked.
"Shut up," I nudged him, "Come on, I'll buy you one."
I strolled out of the classroom, and Deacon followed. Once we reached the bar, we met the bartender, who recognized me and brought out a shot glass with my bottle of Bushmills.
"One more glass," I said.
"Really?" she paused and looked back at Deacon in surprise. " I'm not drinking alone tonight, I see?"
I felt my cheeks flush, "Just bring the shot glass."
With a smile, she did as I asked and poured Deacon a shot from my bottle. We sat there for an eternity when Deacon finally broke the loud silence between us.
"How come you don't want to work?" he asked.
"I don't need to. I don't have to worry about that anymore," I replied.
"Could you be any more vague?" he chuckled while taking the shot.
I pressed my tongue to my cheek, "Fair. I don't have to worry about work because I have more than enough money to last the rest of my life."
He sat there waiting for a more thorough explanation. I downed a few more shots.
"I was engaged before and was pregnant. His daughter was unhappy with that fact. On the day of my wedding, she attacked me, and I lost my baby. Though the man I was about to marry claimed he loved me, I still left. I didn't want to be there anymore. I wouldn't say I liked the thought of seeing her after she took my baby from me. If I could, I'd kill her," I confessed, "When I left and unpacked my things in my new beach house and found a letter he had written to me, an extensive check fell out. He was generous. He says it's to ensure I'm cared for no matter what."
"Maybe he did care for you," he concurred.
I unintentionally rolled my eyes at his remark, "In his own sick control freak way."
"Why stay with him? Almost marry him if you felt that way about him?" he questioned.
"I don't know," I scoffed, "If I did know, then I wouldn't be sitting here by myself every day drinking myself into oblivion so that I can sleep at night."
"Did you ever stop to think you also cared for him? Maybe part of you was ashamed of caring for someone who's such a sick control freak?" he asked.
"I didn't need to be shrunk," I grimaced, "I'm saying what happened to make me a millionaire."
The look of shock that overtook his demeanor caused me to laugh, and I spewed my shot all over the bar top.
"S-s-orry," I choked while trying to wipe up my mess.
"I don't mind," Deacon laughed while helping me.
"I think that's enough for tonight," I caved and pushed my bottle and shot glass back to the bartender.
Without thought, I began walking away from the bar, and Deacon stumbled after me.
"Did you need help getting home?" he asked.
"I've made it home drunker than this before," I grumbled.