Logical Harm

The door swings open and about six people I've never seen walk into the apartment and out onto the balcony. The music is loud and the room is littered with faces some familiar and others I don't know. I remain seated in place on the couch next to the makeshift bar where two girls stand sipping screwdrivers concocted of cheap vodka and synthetic orange juice. One of these girls goes by the name Viktoriya, and the only time I've ever conversed with her is at events such as this one. She's very cute and dumb as a rock.
"...So then he left to Yugoslavia for two weeks."
Jesus Christ, "No he didn't."
She shifts her half drunken focus to me and I could tell I pissed her off by killing her story but after three shots of whiskey I don't give a shit, and I probably would feel the same way without the drinks.
"Do you even know who I'm talking about? Cutting into a conversation is really rude."
"Is it? And no, I have no idea who you're talking about."
"So uh, mind your business?"
"Is that a question?"
"What?"
She turns back to her drunk counterpart. "He sent me pictures and told me that when he gets back we're getting married."
"Oh my god!" Her friend's enthusiasm is amplified and slurred.
My patience is running thin at this point and something in me wants to shut this down.
Mocking her friend I cut in using the same tone, "Oh my God! Those aren't pictures from Yugoslavia!"
My friend Mike, who lives here, is intrigued by the clear animosity showing on their faces and makes his way over to listen to the exchange, "What's up man?"
"--and I don't even know you so..." She sure told me.
"So, Yugoslavia doesn't exist babe."
"What are you talking about?"
"It fell."
She turns to the bar to see what I was talking about, "What fell?"
"Yugoslavia fell, not your drink."
"So where are these pictures from, ass hole?" She pulls out her iPhone and starts flipping through pictures, one of which shows a botique store window where in the reflection one can just barely make out the Eiffel Tower and her 'fiance' with some chick hanging on his arm.
"That's Paris, sweetheart."
"How do you know?"
"Only in Paris would a dude take the time to snap a picture of a store selling dresses. Plus he doesn't look lonely and something tells me those dresses aren't for you. I wish you a happy marriage and lots of babies....uh...ass hole."
Its at this moment that she realizes the reflection and starts crying. Her friend walks her over to the couch like a kid who just struck out in little league.
Mike looks a little taken aback by the exchange and asks what it was about. I mumble some half audible something and check my phone.
"Jesus man, what did you say? She's freakin out," across the room she looks like she just walked off the scene of a terror attack. "leave it to you..."
"I just made the obvious...well...more obvious. Besides, people like that really shouldn't procreate." Logical harm.
"You're such an asshole man. Lets go outside, yeah?"
"Ahh sure."
Viktoriya continues to rock back and forth staring into space while her friend shoots daggers at me from her eyes. I smile and shrug like a five year old in a cereal commercial. Somehow I get off on this shit.
I grab my cane and head out to the balcony where a mix of Israelis and other internationals stand around chatting, awaiting the strike of midnight that will bring in the new year. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I hate the holidays.
"Hey handsome," A stunning, well dressed girl with a Australian accent stands before me and for a second I'm a bit stunned. After a second or two I realize its an old friend from college who has lost an immense amount of weight, and her five years of sobriety.
"Holy shit! Jody!" I give her a hug and glance at Mike over her shoulder. He nods his head in approval and lifts his red party cup.
"How are you going? What happened?" She looks at the cane.
I've learned that a witty answer is more enticing than explaining the symptoms of the muscular damage in my lower back. The problem is solved, but the repercussions of suffering for several months before seeing a doctor remain with me, and probably will for the rest of my life. I hate how Aussies say 'how are you going.'
"Nam. What brings you here tonight? You with your boyfriend?"
"I don't have a boyfriend," Fireworks start going off above our heads. "And you? Who are you here with?"
"This is my buddy's house so I just kinda showed up." I take a sip of my whiskey and I'm sure I'm more sober than she is. She's teetering. I'm not. Burgers are sizzling on the grill but I don't want one.
"Weren't you dating that guy? What was his name, Avi right?"
"Yeah that didn't end well. Found him in our bed with some Russian girl. To be honest I think we were both looking for an easy way out." Her accent is hot. "Last time I date an Israeli."
I can sympathize with her. The last time I dated an Israeli I fell madly in love with her and she mind fucked me for five years or so. I never discovered any Russians in our bed, but shortly after it ended, I found myself in our bed with all sorts of women trying to fill the void that had been created to no avail. Until now, the only woman to hold my interest for more than ten minutes has been Simona and I hardly know her which is probably why I'm not bored yet. So far, Jody has held my attention for about three, and something about her fragile appearance and lost sobriety is drawing me in. I have a thing for fucked up women which is why most scenarios that begin similarly to this one end in shit. I'll drink to that.
"Are you still with that girl?" She smiles and waves at someone across the balcony.
"Nah, that uh...wasn't meant to be."
"To be honest, I found her to be a bitch." She keeps sniffing and its not very cold outside. I think about calling her out on it and decide to keep my mouth shut. It doesn't take me long to realize how she lost the weight.
"She wasn't the warmest person..."
"Did she fuck you right at least?"
I'm a bit taken aback and begin to realize this isn't the same chick I knew. Jody of two years ago was reserved, funny but quiet, and a bit shy. Her father died when she was nine, and her mother had been in and out of jail on drug charges. It was just a matter of time.
"Yeah the sex was good, but anything becomes routine over time, I suppose."
She looks down at the cane again, "Does that stop you?"
"From what?"
"Fucking."
"No, but walking can be a bitch..."
"Come with me."
She starts walking toward the house and I follow not far behind, my cane hitting the linoleum. Electronica is blaring through the apartment and I walk past Viktoriya without saying anything. She takes notice of my trailing behind a beautiful girl and starts crying again. Jody approaches the bathroom and walks inside. I stand outside for a moment a bit confused as to if I am supposed to wait outside or...
"You coming?"
I debate my options for all of about three seconds before I walk into the bathroom and close the door behind me.