5
666words
Especially when those in power use their status to pressure the young.
Alexander was a star; the producers, director, and executives naturally wouldn’t push him.
As a well-connected veteran agent, I, too, was usually given respect.
Naturally, they targeted Bella.
I’ve always believed you have to earn what you want.
If drinking could open doors, so be it.
Everything comes at a price.
During the back-and-forth toasts.
The head producer took a sip of his whiskey and squinted at Bella. "Young lady, do you drink? Us old-timers here, we love our whiskey. Alex doesn’t drink much. Evelyn here has stomach issues."
Most people there knew about my stomach problems; I hadn’t touched alcohol at these dinners in ages.
"You’re young, surely you don’t mind sharing a few rounds with us?"
Bella said, "Of course not," but shot Alexander a pleading look.
Alexander softened instantly. He turned to me, "She can’t hold her liquor. Probably gets drunk after a glass. It wouldn’t be fun for anyone. Let Evelyn handle it. She can hold her liquor like a champ."
He said it without hesitation.
Hearing him protect Bella, my blood felt like it instantly froze.
No one is born able to "hold their liquor like a champ." I'd earned that reputation on the job, gambling with my health at countless networking dinners just to get him better roles.
Sometimes, I’d stumble out and vomit into a trash can, collapsing right there on the pavement, asleep all night.
Lucky it wasn't winter back then, or I might have frozen to death.
But the next day, I’d paste on a smile, not wanting him to worry.
All that hard liquor wrecked my stomach, giving me serious gastritis.
Anything slightly spicy or acidic now feels like knives twisting inside.
When he found out about my stomach…
He didn’t say much, just quietly cooked plain oatmeal for me every day for months while filming.
Said he wouldn’t let me near another business dinner drink again.
Luckily, his next few shows were massive hits.
We weren’t begging for roles anymore; scripts were coming to us.
I didn’t have to risk my health drinking anymore.
But now, for another woman, he was pushing me back onto that battlefield.
Because he couldn’t bear to see her uncomfortable… he forgot… he forgot about my stomach…
I gripped my glass tightly, a sliver of hope making me ask, "Do you really want me to drink this?"
Maybe the pain in my eyes was too raw. He avoided my gaze but said, "Bella’s young, she can’t handle it… but you… you can handle it."
My heart shattered, bleeding. My mouth filled with bitterness.
I threw the drink back in one gulp.
It felt almost self-destructive.
I started actively engaging the director, the producers… the whole table.
Toasting them one by one.
For every sip they took, I was downing shots equivalent to their number.
They tried to wave me off, seeing how hard I was going, but I felt rebellious.
I wanted Alexander to see.
I was drinking like this because he asked me to.
Even if I drank myself into a stomach ulcer, it was on him.
The high-proof liquor burned a slow path down to my stomach.
Agonizing pain.
But the pain in my heart was far worse.
I kept drinking, shot after shot, face impassive.
Letting the alcohol churn like acid, stab like blades inside me.
Finally, the director noticed my pallor.
"Evelyn… you look awful. Sweating buckets. Maybe stop now? Water’s fine."
Alexander looked over, panicked.
“If you couldn’t handle it, why didn’t you say something? Why suffer in silence?"
He sounded concerned, couldn’t hide it.
But when I said I hadn’t targeted Bella…
Had he listened?
When I asked if he really wanted me to drink for Bella…
Had he heard me?
His heart leaned towards Bella, his ears were only open to her.
Words are for those willing to hear.
