To an alcoholic

by Anonymous

January 8^th

I hadn’t seen you in over a year. Not since you told me you were proposing to her. I’d smiled when you told me that. I’d feigned excitement and happiness, as was proper, when inside I was crumbling. That was last Spring, and you’re no longer with her. As I walked to your door my stomach was twisting into knots, and I hoped you couldn’t sense my nerves. Hands shaking, I somehow managed to knock on your door. You pulled it open and we hugged, our embrace lasting longer than it should have between friends. You kissed both my cheeks and said “I missed you kid”. I smiled and replied “I missed you too”, and it was true. It took everything I had to stand steady as all of the memories came flooding back. Memories of late night conversations and secret meetings, of sultry stolen afternoons. Yet, somehow I managed to remain nonchalant, to play the part of the old friend. We watched movies that day. If you asked me which, I couldn’t tell you. I was more concerned with the feeling of you next to me than with the actors on the screen. The feeling of your hand running along my leg, resting on my hips, that is what I took from that day, because for the first time in months I felt beautiful, and I felt right. We laughed together, we joked, and we wanted. I had been lying to myself, telling myself as I drove to your house that we could just be friends. Lie. I have loved you for years, and as much as I’ve tried to forget you I can’t.

It had been dark for hours, and I told you I needed to leave.

“Don‘t go”, you said, “Please, please stay. I want you to stay”, and so I stayed.
____________________________________________________________________
January 11^th

“You don’t know what you‘re getting into little girl, I‘m going to make you scream”

“We‘ll see about that” I said defiantly, clicking my phone shut.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and I was careening down I35 at a steady 20 miles over the speed limit. You’d challenged me that day, over whether or not our sexual exploits had maintained their sizzle over time. I’d guessed they had, and I was more than willing to prove it. Minutes later I skidded into your driveway, ripped the keys from the ignition, and was pounding on your door within moments.

I’d been in your house for only seconds before I saw the bottle of vodka. Without thinking, I grabbed it and ran to the sink, but you’d caught up to me before half of it was down the drain. You wrenched it from my grip, bending me back over the counter in the process. Unexpectedly, you shoved the bottle between my lips, and I took in a mouthful. It was like trying to swallow rubbing alcohol. You relaxed for a moment, and I took the opportunity to spit the liquid into your eyes. As you pulled back, I managed to get the rest of the bottle into the sink. You stood there, watching in disbelief.

“I‘m sorry” you said with a sigh, shoulders sagging. In my mind, an apology is a promise, a promise that you will not repeat your actions.

“Don‘t apologize to me”, I said. “I‘m not the one this is killing”.
“I‘m sorry”, you repeated.

I learned very quickly that an alcoholic is never truly sorry when their booze is involved.

~7pm
You walked back in from smoking your cigarette, and I knew something was wrong before the door had swung shut behind you. I’d later find out that you’d tried to call your once-fiancé T----.
You looked at me and said “I‘m going to the liquor store, and I‘m buying a bottle of vodka, don‘t try to stop me”. I said nothing. “If you‘re still here when I get back so be it”, and you left.

I waited for you in your empty apartment, my mind racing. What am I supposed to do? How was I supposed to help you? I was lost, but I couldn’t leave.

When you got back, you looked straight at me, silently took in my presence, and went to the refrigerator for your chaser. I followed you into your bedroom. By the time I crossed the threshold you already had the bottle to your lips, and all I could do was watch.

“Why are you here?” you asked.

“I don‘t know, I guess I figure this is the only way I‘ll know you fully”.

“If you‘re going to stay, then drink with me”.

“No! I‘m not going to condone this”.

“Drink with me or leave”.

I couldn’t tell you what went through my head in the following moments, but for some reason I decided that I shouldn’t let you do this alone. So, I went to the kitchen for a glass. I poured maybe two shots into the orange plastic cup.

“You won‘t drink that” you said.

Indignantly, I took the bottle back from you and filled the cup to the brim.

You eyed that cup with a desperation that was almost tangible. I was across the room, pouring the vodka down the sink before you had time to stand up.

“You bitch”.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to manage that trick again, and there was still half a bottle of vodka on your desk.

“Just get drunk with me”.

“No, I hate being drunk”.

“Were just going to drink and go to sleep”.

I stood there, lost for what to do. Eventually, I held out my hand for the bottle. I figured every shot I took was one you didn’t.

___________________________________________________
January 12th
~9am

The shifting of the mattress as you rose from the bed was what woke me. I pretended to be asleep, watching you move about the room through parted eyelids, the world still spinning slightly in a cheap, vodka induced haze. While you made your way to the kitchen to brew coffee, I rose and dressed, eventually meeting you by the stove.

“Good morning” I murmured.

“Good morning”.

The rest of that morning is a daze. I know we laughed, I know we smiled, but over what I can’t say.

“I‘m starving” I said “let’s go to Sonic”.

With a little convincing, you agreed to my venture into the outside world. Before we reached the door, however, you paused. Reaching into the coat closet, far back on the top shelf, you produced the rest of the previous night’s vodka. Standing there, horrified, I watched you chug mouthful after mouthful, chasing it down with Mountain Dew, our eyes locked through the whole ordeal.

For some reason, we still went to Sonic. Looking back, I’d say it was my naive grasp for a sense of normality that made me go. We’d been in the drive-thru for only seconds when you asked “why did she leave me?” I knew you were talking about T----.

“I think it was because she didn‘t understand” I said. “She wasn‘t willing to give you forever, which is what you offered her”.

“I gave her everything, and now I‘m done”, you replied, “I just want to die”.

“Please don‘t say that”.

“It‘s true. Dead sounds phenomenal right now”.

Those words sent chills down my spine.

When we arrived back at your apartment, I had to unlock your door. You were too drunk to fit the key into the lock. Even so, you had the vodka back in your hands as fast as I could get the door open. I knew I couldn’t stop you, but for some reason I stayed. I stayed until you’d drained the bottle and were lying immobile on the bed.

“Please M---, just let me die”.

“No”.

“Just bring me the knife”.

“No”.

“Please, I‘m asking very nicely”.

“No”.

“Stop saying No”.

…“No”.

“I don’t want to have to do it myself M---, please kill me. Go into the other room, get the knife, and stab me in the chest. No one will know it was you. All you have to do is stab me, and walk out. I promise I‘ll die quietly”.

Choking back tears, I said again “No”.

“Then leave”.

“No”.

“I don’t want you here. You’re a bitch, and a whore. I don‘t love you, I never have. I‘ve just been using you, you fucking slut”.

“That all may be true, but I‘m not leaving”.

“Fucking bitch”.

“You may as well stop, because I‘m not going anywhere”.

A while passed before you spoke again, as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

“Please don’t leave M---, please stay”.

“I‘m not going anywhere”.

~7pm
You’d been asleep for almost an hour, and I’d gone through your house collecting any lethal blade I could find. I even checked to make sure you didn’t have a gas oven. I did all of this with a sense of calm that terrified me. You said you wanted to die, and I believed you.

~8:30 pm
I was sitting at your computer, digging through AA websites when I heard you stir behind me.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Terrible” you said. You were bent over the toilet seat in less than five minutes.

I stayed again that night. Partly because I was scared to leave you, and partly because the ice storm had moved in, and I was stranded. Whatever the reason, I cared for you all through that night. Picking you up off the bathroom floor periodically and taking you back to bed , holding you through nightmares while you sweated out half a liter of cheap booze.

_________________________________________
January 13th
~7:30am

“Yeah, you‘re not going anywhere for a while” you said.

Pulling my thin sweater back up onto my shoulder, I joined you at the window, looking out at the work of the snowstorm.

“I checked the roads” you said, “You can’t drive”.

“Fuck, I already missed one day of school”.

“Looks like you‘re missing another, because you‘re not getting out of here”.

“Shit”.

You were sober that whole morning-- at least as far as I could tell. We curled up in your bed and watched heist movies until the roads melted. Just you, me, and Jason Statham. It was fantastic.

__________________________________
January 19th
~9:30am

I threw my phone half-heartedly down on the bed. You hadn’t answered. You’d promised me that you would be back in Stillwater by 9 o‘clock, and that you’d go to a Catholic service with me. The Atheist and the once- practicing Pagan, attending church together. The hilarity was not lost on me; but you hadn’t answered, and part of me knew why. The part of me cursed with optimism wanted to believe that you were still asleep, that maybe, you were just at your parents still. But lies, deceit, and hurt have sent that part of me to shrinking, and I know that you’re sitting in your house, right now, drinking whatever it is you bought with your dad’s money.

~11 am
I tapped on the glass panes of your front door. Nothing. I knocked a little more fervently. Still nothing. I nearly had to kick in your door to get you to answer. You looked pathetic, and pitiable. Your hair was a mess, your clothes disheveled, your hazel eyes were glassy unfocused pools. You started walking back towards the bedroom, without saying a word. I followed you, and immediately spotted the bottle on your nightstand, already a third of the way gone. I did nothing, and said nothing. What was I supposed to do? The wave of sadness that covered me at that moment had rendered me immobile, without words. I could not stop you. I could not help you.

You did not want to get better. These realizations were like knives in my heart.

“I have bad news” you muttered, words slurring as you clutched the bottle to your chest like a child.

“Bad news that doesn‘t involve that?” I replied, gesturing to the bottle.

“No that’s it”.

Then, there was a knock at your door. I looked at you questioningly, and you returned my confused glance. Whoever had knocked crossed the threshold without invitation. It was a girl I’d never seen before, shorter than me, but perhaps a few years older and a few pounds heavier, with medium length dark hair. Ever the proper hostess, even outside my own home, I approached her, hand outstretched “Hi, I‘m M---”.

“I know,” she said, “I‘m H----”.

This reply threw me, I had never seen this woman before, how could she know me? The knot of nerves in my belly compounded as she walked past me into the bedroom. She looked at you, sitting there on the bed, and scoffed, “you look terrible”.

“And you look great kid, really great”.

She stood there for a moment; mouth pursed, and then made a lunge for the bottle. Somehow, she managed to pry it from your grip, and, crossing the bedroom, held it ominously over the sink.

“Don‘t you fucking dare!” you said, your hand gripped tight around her forearm.

“Or what?”

“I‘ll fucking kill you”.

Apparently, she didn’t believe you, because she squeezed the sides of the plastic bottle, sending a stream of vodka into the sink. Your hand was around her throat before the liquid had hit the tile. I don’t remember thinking, but in an instant my left arm was wrapped around your throat from behind, your windpipe in the crook of my elbow as my right arm pulled the lock tight. It took all of my weight to pull you down, bent at the waist, and off of H----. You’d somehow managed to reclaim your grip in the bottle, and the struggle sent icy liquid down all of our legs. Using your shoulder you rammed me in the chest, and back into the wooden cabinets, into the door, into the door frame, trying to shake me off.

“Stop!” I screamed, “Don‘t you fucking touch her”. I had no idea who this woman was, but she wanted you sober, so I at the very least I had a partner in her.

Eventually, you relaxed to the point that I released my grip, my shoulders protesting in pain from the strain. You reacted like I’d never been there, and turned to face H----.

“If you try that again, I will kill you, I swear it” Moving to the bed, you collapsed, the mouth of the bottle to your lips.

We three were silent for a long moment. H---- and I standing, you barely able to keep yourself on the bed. I moved the sit beside you, and began stroking your hair absentmindedly. I revert to these maternal motions when I am too far gone to comprehend another course of action.

“I think you should call your family”, I said.

“No!” you exclaimed, a mix of anger and fear escaping in that single syllable.

I texted your brother then, the message read:

“I need your dad‘s phone number please, asap”

“Who is this?”

“M--- ”
“What has my brother done now?”

“Please, just give me your dad’s number”

Eventually he did send it to me. Saying nothing, I held out my phone to H----, so she could see that we had the number, if the situation reached the point that we should call it. Unluckily for me, you were more cognizant than I’d realized. Grabbing my wrist, you twisted it hard, until you saw the screen.

“If you talk to my family, I will kill you”.

It was then that I saw the small yet lethal pocket knife in your hand. I froze.

“Give me the phone” you said, and the menace in your voice had me shaking.

“No” I replied, my voice only slightly stronger than I’d thought it would be.

“Give me the phone or I’ll break your arm“.

I tried to get away then, off of the bed and into the living room, but you caught me almost instantly. Within seconds you had my arm twisted behind my back. Somehow I still managed to toss my phone to H----, who was sitting in the desk chair, watching all of this happen. You pushed me into the bed, and my face slammed down hard against the comforter. Your hand on my forearm jerked back, and a small scream escaped my lips, I knew you could break my arm if you wanted, and the pain in my shoulder told me you were nearly there.

“Give me the phone” you said.

“I don‘t have it!” I screamed.

“Give me the phone, or the arm breaks”.

“G----- I swear I don‘t have it” I pleaded, showing you my empty free hand.

“Fine, then it’s broken”.

H---- came forward then, phone out held. You hadn’t seen me pass it to her. You ripped it from her hand, and motioned as if you were going to smash it against the wall.

“Please don‘t destroy it” I said, my voice unnervingly level, “I won‘t be able to get another”.

You made me delete your family’s numbers while you watched, as I’d anticipated. You still don’t know I saved duplicates.

Once you were convinced that I had no way to contact your family, the silence once again engulfed the room. You leaning unsteadily against the countertop, me standing, eyes vacant near the door, and H---- sitting once again in the desk chair.

It was H---- who broke the silence. “You smell fucking disgusting” she said “When was the last time you showered?”

“2 days ago” you said.

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing here G-----? What are you going to do about rent, groceries, school”?

You sat there, silently.

“You don‘t plan on being around that long do you?” she asked.

You shook your head, and I nearly burst into tears.

“Get up off your ass, and go take a shower, you‘re a fucking pig. Go, I‘m not going to dump your booze, I‘m not going to water it down”.

This exchange left me speechless, and it continued as if I weren’t even present. It’s not unlikely you’d forgotten I was there. She did eventually convince you to shower, although you took the bottle with you.

After ensuring you’d made it to the bathroom, she leaned back against the counter, seemingly unphased by the whole ordeal. I sat on the bed, head in hands, at a loss. Turning my head, I made eye contact with her, “how do you know me?” I asked.

“I hacked his facebook years ago” she said, without hesitation “I found one of your dirty chat sessions”. I could think of no reply for this, so we sat in silence for several minutes.

“Why are you here?” she asked. It seems that’s what everyone wanted to know lately.

“Because I love him”, I said unthinking. “I’ve loved him for most of my life”. Her reply left me taken aback.

“Would you marry him?” she asked, why she’d chosen to ask this I don’t know.

“Yes”, I whispered, “if he were sober”.

“You know he’s a liar”.

“I know, and that‘s what hurts the most I think. I don’t know which is a lie, I love you, or I‘m using you”.

“Then why are you here?” she asked again.

I thought for a moment, and said “because at some point, every single person you know will do something terrible, and you have to ask yourself if they’re worth it. For some reason, for G-----, the answer is always yes”.

She stopped talking then, and you came out of the shower, smelling better, but looking just as terrible. You could barely walk straight.

Once dressed, you again fell limply onto the bed. H---- took this opportunity to remove all the glassware from your house. Like me, she’d talked you through enough suicide calls to not take any risks. I was just angry that I hadn’t thought to take the glassware along with the knives. When she came back from her car after depositing the glassware, you asked me to leave the two of you alone. I could hear your muffled voices drifting through the door, but could make out very little. I could tell you were apologizing for something, and that she was hell-bent on treating everything you said as a lie. You were in that room for over an hour, but eventually H----- opened the door, and gathered her things. You tried to hug her before she left, and she reluctantly gave you a quick embrace, before rushing out the door. I watched all of this from my space in the corner of the couch, silently.

“Leave” you said coldly, as soon as the door had closed behind H----.

“No” I said, shaking my head weakly “No”.

“Get the fuck out of my house, or I‘m calling the police and having you arrested for trespassing”.
“Okay”, I said, “That’s the only way I can leave”.

“Don‘t make me watch you get dragged out of here in cuffs”.

“I‘m not making you do anything. You have three choices. Let me stay, and I‘m fully aware that it is you letting me stay, force me out yourself, or call the police”.

“Fine” you said, making your way back to the bedroom. I followed you, and sat on the edge of the desk, pulling on my heels, sickly entertained by the fact that I was still wearing my church clothes. I watched you dial 911, but for some reason, they didn’t answer.

“Get out”.

I shook my head, to emotionally gone to argue the point. You stood, and came to face me, standing maybe an inch from my chest.

“Leave”.

“No”.

“M---, I am not joking, leave now”.

“No”,-- and then you hit me. I was shocked. I didn’t scream, I didn’t say anything. No one had ever hit me before. Before I’d had a chance to stand up straight you’d backhanded me again across the other cheek, harder this time, and it sent me reeling. I don’t know how many times the back of your hand slammed into my cheek, how many times your closed fist met my gut. I raised my forearms to block the blows, but not once did it occur to me to hit you back. “Don’t you dare defend yourself”, you spat. The final slap sent me falling backwards onto the bed. It was the hardest blow, and it did make me scream. You’d threatened to kill me not an hour ago, and in that moment, I believed you.

But then you stopped, and stepped away. I sat there on your bed, terrified, every cell in my body shaking. You’d hit me. It didn’t hurt because I was a girl, or even because you’d hit me particularly hard. It hurt because even then, I loved you.

The following minutes were spent in the tensest, darkest silence I have ever known in my life. Sitting there, facing you, I saw for the first time the monster inside you. I knew then that this disease would destroy you, and that it could take me down with you, because I couldn’t bring myself to leave you alone with that bottle. Even through all of this, I wanted to love you. I wanted to hold you, and comfort you, and show you safety. You moved to touch me then, and I jumped. For the first time in my life, I was truly scared of someone. I was scared of the thing that alcohol had made of you.

“I‘m sorry” you said.

“No you‘re not” I replied, choking on my own words. I moved forward and took the vodka bottle into my hand. Nervously, you jumped up.

“Calm the fuck down, I‘m not going to dump your fucking booze”! You relaxed a bit, and I stood there, bottle in hand, lost in my own pain and thoughts for a moment.

“This means more to you than I ever will”, I whispered, my voice breaking.

“Yes”, you answered, your head nodding fervently.

“You don’t want to get better, because this fucking bottle is more important to you than anything”.

“You‘re right”.

“Go to sleep G-----”, I murmured, setting the bottle once again on your nightstand, unshed tears pooling in my eyes and throat. “Just go to sleep”, and you did.

~5pm
You’d been asleep for hours. The unmoving slumber of a blackout drunk. I wondered if you’d even remember what had happened, if, when you woke, you’d know why I flinched at your raised arm. You opened your eyes, body still unmoving. “I‘m sorry” you mumbled, your voice still groggy from sleep and booze.

The words I said next surprised even me: “I forgive you”.

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed, your knee mere inches from mine. My entire body tensed as you looked at me, as you repeated over and over again. “I‘m sorry, I‘m sorry, I‘m so sorry”. I couldn’t meet your eyes.

I have never been a religious person, I’ve read the bible only once, but in this moment I could think of only one thing to say: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. I told you I‘m not going anywhere G-----, and I meant it”. You leaned your head down onto my knees then, and cried.