My Last Glass

By Edid Fontecha Barbosa

This is the story of a beautiful woman, who lives a life surrounded by luxuries, pleasures and eccentricities, but soon her world will be suddenly shaken by a terrible tragedy, starting a path full of pain in search for her redemption. She will soon discover in the midst of so much suffering that a precious miracle leads her to develop her most valued gift and to accept her mission of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Jul 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781071557112

Book preview

To thank is to acknowledge with love, so thanks to my beloved teacher, who has inspired this message by showing me the responsibility that free will brings, when making decisions that involve other beings. To my mother, thank you for encouraging me and cultivating in me the desire to write. To my beloved husband, who with infinite patience tolerated the long silences, while I filled these pages. To my furry Titan, who was snoring lying at my feet, giving me the certainty that each word in this work had a purpose, and to you, dear reader, infinite thanks for allowing me to tell you this story.

The dry throat, the heavy eyelids, and that familiar feeling of something that had escaped her will; which later she would have to untangle, understand, and reluctantly accept.

The first thing would be to know where she was, the place wasn’t at all familiar; neither the smell nor the belongings, nor anything of the surroundings, offered a known panorama.

She tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in her back prevented her. What had she done this time? She needed a drink, and light a cigarette, to orient herself. But where was she? Her head was spinning, and the feeling of dizziness was accentuated with each question that arose; perhaps she should go to the toilet, but where the hell was she? She closed her eyes again, exhaustion and pain plunged her into a deep lethargy.

She didn’t know how long she had slept; through the veil of the ancient curtain a light flickered intermittently; it looked like a sign with a red light, worn and tired. It was accompanied by an electric sound, like those that precede a short circuit. She made a new attempt to stand up, and this time she succeeded; however, the strong pain was still in her back. She looked for her shoes, and they were far from each other, as if she’d thrown them off in stages. She was naked, she perceived it when a gust of cold wind entered through the open window; it was evident that she hadn’t been there alone. 

She looked for her clothes, and got dressed, she went around the room looking for her cigarettes, her purse wasn’t there, that was where she usually found them, which put her in a very bad mood. She’d done it again, but this time, it seemed more difficult to untangle the events of the previous night; once again the gaps, these moments that escape, leaks of memories, which are disconnected, but which must be linked to achieve locating time and space. How else would she return to her usual routine?

In this darkkikji, dirty room, where a smell of bleach and sin made her stomach churn, there was a mirror. She approached it, she needed to look at her back and see what the cause of this insistent pain was. She was perplexed to discover a huge bruise, she would remember later what it was all about, now the most important thing was to get out of there. But where was her purse, her ID, her damn cigarettes? She would’ve given anything for a puff of smoke, the kind that reaches deep into the lungs, and that travels quickly to the brain, where the pleasure center lavishes the sensations that she’d chosen as her favorite.

She tried to get ready and went to the door of the room, stumbling because the pain prevented her from walking upright and she felt an urgency to go home, resume her activities, and touch her reality. This moment was part of that other life that she led, of which she felt very ashamed and guilty; that lacerating sensation that punishes, mistreats, corners and humiliates, but that somehow, was like an invisible net that trapped her, once and again, and led her into a dark, dead end.

She needed answers. The receptionist, a fat old man, with a drinker's nose, and eyes like two tiny buttons looked like a fat rat. He gave her a smile, which showed yellowed and broken teeth. Finally, she armed herself with courage, and asked him if her roommate had already left. The man looked at her for a few seconds, and said, with a surprised look, that her friend was about to return, she’d said that she was going for a cup of coffee.

Then the spree had been with a girl friend! Well, this took a weight off her, she hadn’t been with a stranger like the last time, when she woke up accompanied by a bum she had never seen. This time she was a friend, but which one? And she’d taken her purse; the only thing left for her to do was wait, so she ordered a pack of cigarettes from the man at the reception and returned to the room.

She didn't have a penny on her, so she said that her friend would pay when she arrived. Which of her friends had spent the night with her? She only had four, and two of them were out of the country, so there were only two possibilities left: Anne, who also undertook wild adventures when she was blind drunk; and Beth, who was even more daring and among her anecdotes she had bizarre stories that were sometimes difficult to believe. She had wondered a few times, if they weren’t the product of her fertile imagination, everything was chaos when she appeared; everything was turned upside down, but there was no doubt that they would give their lives for her if necessary. Something like a sorority, were these women undoubtedly, for her.

A couple of hours passed, and the pack of cigarettes was already down to half, so she borrowed the phone. She had to call to find out what had happened to her friend, or if one of them could come to pick her up, since she didn’t have her purse, nor money for the taxi, or to pay for this profanity of room where she spent the night. She was about to dial a number, when she heard the door open, and suddenly a woman with a tray appeared, a couple of coffees, and croissants; she could see her purse was hanging from her right shoulder, so she deduced that she was the person she had been with the night before. Something stirred inside her, she was paralyzed, and a flash in her mind gave her a glimpse of a scene of violence, where she saw herself falling to the ground as a result of a brutal onslaught; that was the blow she received in the back, but who gave it to her?

She waited for the woman to enter. Without saying a word, she entered, sat in a chair that matched the other horrible furniture in that room; which side of the city it was in, she had no idea. I brought you coffee she said. She took the glass, still hot, and took a big sip. Her throat was dry, in fact she liked it, but she wasn’t hungry so she put the bread aside. It seemed that the situation had to be clarified, so she asked, So, who are you?

You don’t remember me? We met last night at the bar on 7th avenue. I go there frequently but I hadn’t seen you before; you really didn’t fit in that place, and that was what caught my attention. You had some shoes and a purse, which are worth at least a couple of years’ work. You invited me a drink, and well, you know what came after.

You’re wrong, I don't know, I don't remember anything about what happened last night. I don't know how I ended up in this filthy room, and tell me please, why do I have this bruise on my back, did you do it to me?

Me? How can you think that? I wouldn't touch you with a rose petal. When we got to this place, which you yourself chose, you were already beaten; someone gave you a tremendous beating, but nothing was stolen. Your purse is intact; your cards and your ID are in your purse. When I went to the cafe, I wanted to show it off on my shoulder, because I’ll probably never have the opportunity again. You’re not mistaken, you won’t have that chance again.

Alexa understood part of the matter, but there were still a couple of questions to solve, the immediate thing was to solve this situation, without causing much harm. What’s your name? Edna, my name’s Edna. Ok, Edna, we’ve got to get out of here, please don't get me wrong, but I think I had too much to drink, and what happened last night stays here, as they say, what happens in Las Vegas, stays in Las Vegas.

She took her wallet, and handed Edna some bills, with what she considered would pay for that seedy room, and in order for her to take a taxi to wherever she wanted. She needed to get rid of this woman, who seemed to want to extend the experience further, and that was something that escaped her immediate plans.

"Dammit! This has to stop; every time I lose consciousness, I find myself in more compromising situations. Perhaps the immediate solution is to drink at home, in comfort and the safety of my apartment, but this also has its drawbacks. I’ve already received complaints from neighbors about my apparent madness. Well, I must go home, and try to regain my sanity. I must first go to the doctor, I need pain killers, and something to alleviate this hangover; a bottle of vodka wouldn’t hurt.

Where had she left her car? The last time, it was in a dark alley, and she had lost the radio and the valuables that were foolishly in the trunk of the Mercedes. This time she didn’t have the slightest idea. Well, for now a taxi, to take her to her doctor’s house, once her lover, and explain that she had been robbed at the train station. But this would be inconvenient, more questions and she would have to invent other answers. This isn’t good, if every time I have