“Mr. Stewart, are you there? Please tell me you’re there,” the voice pleads. “Mr. Stewart, oh, Mr. Stewart,” the voice continues in an almost musical nature.
Getting out of bed, I could swear the voice sounds like Eva. I flip on a light and make my way to the door. The voice has been replaced with a loud obnoxious banging noise. Curiosity beckons and I swing open the door to my apartment to find Eva a mess and very much drunk.
“Hello, Mr. Stewart,” she says, smiling up at me.
The effects of alcohol make her eyes glisten as she sits on the top of the steps. Her back is against the stair railing that leads to my apartment. Facing my door, she holds a beer bottle in one hand, no doubt the object that was banging on the floor in front of her.
I hurry to her side, quickly help her into the apartment. I look around for Gwen and curse under my breath at the fact that she’s nowhere in sight. When I heard they were going out, I hadn’t imagined Eva to be the one ending the night this way.
Stumbling, Eva makes her way toward the door. Dropping the empty bottle, she giggles nonstop, obviously holding in a joke that she finds hysterical. Although, I don’t see any humor in the situation.
“You’re too kind, sir,” she says, breaking away from my hold and trying to make her way on her own. She fails and starts to fall, hitting the wall, she almost takes down a picture frame with her.
I’m quick to catch her and help her to the couch. Giggling, still very enthused with the situation, she sits while I turn and close the front door. Making my way back to her side, I sit beside her. My mind races wondering what the hell is going on.
Trying to compose herself, Eva sits up straight, then looks me in the eye with the straightest face she can manage. Less than a second later, she breaks, laughing so hard she has to hold on to my arm to keep from falling off my couch.
“Do you want something to drink,” I ask.
Her eyes light up as she struggles to meet mine. “Do you have a beer?” She giggles.
“I think you’ve had enough beer, Eva. I was talking about water,” I state firmly.
“Oh, you’re no fun,” she says, pushing me playfully.
“What’s wrong, darlin’?” I ask, trying to sound calm, though every part of me wants to hurt whatever is so obviously hurting her that she decided to drink enough to get shit-faced drunk. I also wouldn’t mind finding her sorry excuse of a friend and getting to the bottom of how and why she thought it was okay for Eva to find her way here alone.
“I was just trying to think,” Eva says. Trailing off, she points at me, trying to make some sort of emphasis on what she’s about to say but fails horribly.
A few moments pass. Eva’s face softens and sadness creeps into her eyes. Whatever it is that made her decide to drink so much is making itself known, and I try my best to be ready for whatever it is she might be about to say.
Slowly, in a whisper, she says, “Why do you want to be with me?”
Is she joking? I thought I had shown her why every day that we’d been together. I thought I had done everything I needed to so she would never, ever doubt how much I care for her. Where is all of this coming from?
“How could you even ask that?” I say. “Eva, I’ve told you every way I could think of just how much I love you, and..”
“I’m no good for you, Noah,” she blurts out.
Her eyes fill with tears. Her face hardens with anger. Rage and hatred begin to fill every ounce of this woman I love. It’s almost as if living with herself and whatever is clouding her mind is an impossible task.
I can’t take it.
“No good for me? Eva, there once was a time I could only hope to be lucky enough to have someone as precious as you,” I try soothing her, but she cuts me off.
“No … no… NO!” she shouts, interrupting me and shaking her head fiercely as if she is trying to shake away the thoughts that are living there as well. “No good. I’m no good!”
She’s drunk and fucking delirious.
She waves her hand in front of her and then grabs a hold of my leg for stability. I start to wonder exactly how much she’s had to drink. She’s almost incapable of holding herself still and in an upright position. This is not like her at all. She always stops after a couple drinks, three tops.
“Darlin’, why would you think that? You’re everything I could ever hope for.”
I hate seeing the woman I love like this.
“But what about later?” Eva asks. “What about much, much later? I can’t live up to perfect, Noah. You think I’m great now, but what about the first time I do something wrong? What about when I’m not perfect? If I make bad choices, or when I disappoint you, and you look at me like … like you’re looking at me now,” I try to cut her off and tell her she’s being ridiculous, I fucking love her, but she starts to cry. At first, her tears fall slowly then uncontrollably the more her thoughts resonate with her emotions.
“I would never want nothing to do with you,” I tell her sternly.
