Free You Can See Me by A. E. Via Page A

to the bartender when his knuckles hit a glass and sent something—probably his beer—crashing to the floor.
    Fuck me.
    “What gives, dude? That was my drink, man. What the fuck are you? Blind?” An extremely pissed man was close to his left side, yelling at him for knocking over his drink.
    “Actually, yeah, I am,” Pres replied drily.
    Why the hell was your drink so damn close to me in the first place?
    “Oh” was the man’s only response .
    “It’s all right. I’ll buy you another one. If you could signal the bartender for me, I’ll buy you whatever you were drinking.” Pres tried to reason with the drunk man. His breath was foul, and as he spoke to Pres, little pieces of spittle hit him on his cheek. Pres desperately wanted to get off this fucking stool, now.
    “I was drinking a bottle of Cristal,” the man stated boldly.
    Bull-fucking-shit! There’s no way you were drinking a two-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne. Unfortunately, for Pres, his supernose was immediately able to detect the man’s foul breath and knew exactly what the man was drinking. It was vodka, and it wasn’t even premium.
    “Look, man, I’ll buy you a double shot of Ciroc vodka with a Corona back. How’s that?” Pres said, hoping the man didn’t push this ridiculous issue.
    “Whatever, man.” The guy accepted his drinks and moved on. Thank God.
    Where the hell is Vikki now? Pres felt the raised hands on his platinum Cartier watch. I’ve been sitting here over an hour.
    Pres had had three beers sitting on his lonely stool, and coupled with the drinks he had before he left home, he really needed to use the bathroom.
    I knew I should’ve brought my cane. This is crazy. She can’t pretend I’m not blind. It wasn’t like he could just ask some stranger to take him to the men’s room. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and speed-dialed Vikki. It went straight to voice mail. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
    Pres waited for the bartender to come back and ask him if he wanted another drink. He politely refused and asked him to direct him toward the men’s room.
    “Dude, I’m not gonna help you take a whiz, man,” the bartender laughed.
    “I don’t need help. Just tell me which way it is,” Pres hissed.
    “To your left,” was all he said.
    “And…” Pres prompted, but the man was gone.
    Goddamn it.
    Pres hadn’t felt this stupid in a long time. He’d let his idiot girlfriend talk him into doing what he knew he should not have. Pres slid off the stool and immediately bumped into someone.
    “Sorry,” he tried to apologize over the music.
    This was ridiculous. He had to put his hands out in front of him to keep from falling over something. He knew he looked crazy, but what else could he do? People were bumping into him as he walked extra slow through the crowd. Some were not so polite in moving him out of their way.
    He ran smack into a stool that was occupied by a woman. “Sorry,” he murmured as he heard a recognizable giggle. What the fuck? Vikki.
    “Vikki!” he yelled angrily over the pop music.
    “Better watch where you’re going, Pres.” She laughed hysterically, and so did several of her friends who were in close proximity.
    Watch where I’m going? Pres was humiliated. She’d probably been watching him the whole time, knowing he wouldn’t be able to move without her.
    I’m done with this bitch. I’d rather be alone the rest of my life than put up with this.
    “That’s it. Take me home right the fuck now,” he growled in her ear.
    “Hey. I’m not going anywhere. I told you you wouldn’t like it here, but you begged to come with me. Now, you can wait until I’m ready to go,” she slurred.
    “Well at least show me to the bathroom.” He held her shoulder and spoke sternly in her ear, not wanting anyone else to hear his request.
    “Awww. Poor baby needs to go to the bathroom and can’t.” She mocked him.
    “Hey, man, I’ll take you to the bathroom and help you hold it up too,” a man purred