When We Were Drunk

“It’s late.”  When I heard that voice, I already knew it’s his. He came.    I glanced at him and smiled.   “You want?” I asked, holding up a bottle.   He showed the plastic bag he’s carrying. He brought our favorite. Beers. His backpack was tossed aside somewhere in here then he sat beside me. He opened up one bottle and drank straight.   “Why did you refuse my help?” he asked, looking straight at me.   I knew he’d ask. I’m not just ready to answer.    The place was dark, as usual. And messy. And there are mosquitos, too. However, this rooftop has been our confidant ever since…I don’t know. I can’t remember when we started drinking here. Talking mindlessly. Getting drunk. And…forgetting everything when we’re sober.   As if we never know each other.   Like we never know each other’s secrets.   I drank from the bottle, hopefully to find the courage and say the words. Contrary to what they say, alcohol doesn’t toughen me up. But it does know how to soften me up, making me vulnerable in front of him.   “We don’t know each other. Why would I accept your help?” I giggled playfully, laughing it off. But deep inside me, I’m freaking out. I don’t know what to answer.   That night, I refused his help. I was so horrified, I was looking for someone to help me. But when he came, I ran away from him. The truth is I don’t know why I did that. I was a mess that night, I’m not thinking straight.    I felt like I’ll be hurt more if I let him help me.   He looked at me, disbelief in his eyes. He’s not smiling nor laughing. “That’s the f*****g thing, though. We do know each other.”   “No, we don’t,” I said, disdain in my voice. “And maybe it’s better that way. We’re two messy individuals who shouldn’t get tangled up with each other’s lives.”