Keeping On Without You

Some sort of hope was instilled in me after I left my parents’ house. I wasn’t completely unsure of myself at this point, but that little voice telling me to fuck it and continue on like I had been was always going to be there. The part I hated most was that the little voice had taken over since Addie left, partly because she used to be the voice that would keep me out of trouble. And there’s not a lot my memory can justify of her voice, so when she went, that voice of reason vanished as well.

Like it was never there at all.

The thought occurred to me that if that voice had never been there in the first place, I would be much worse off then I was now. Or maybe if Addie’s voice had never met my eardrums for the second time, I would be just fine. It was a decision I didn’t want to make, because as far as I was concerned, Addie Kaston was the best thing to ever happen to me - regardless of the condition I was in now.

I tried to go out for the rest of the day in order to avoid heading home again. I was getting so sick of that place, but I knew in my gut that once I checked in for rehab I’d want nothing more than to be there. But I tried to go out. To spend time with some friends or at least walk around in the city to clear my head.

On walks by myself I always managed to make reason of the things I did. It gave me some sort of validation, in a way.

However, walking around the same blocks four times got old. Seeing the same sights didn’t help any after I had seen them the first two times. After the stores and people weren’t unfamiliar I lost interest and my mind, full of bad thoughts and lack of reason, began to take over.

I really needed to get home now. Right away.

I needed something to chase these bad thoughts away, and no matter how many laps I made around the city I couldn’t rid my mind of them.

And the only thing I could think of on the speedy ride home was how pathetic it would be to get wasted on the night before I checked into rehab. But I was going there for a reason, right? I was going for help. And obviously I needed it when I was still utterly dependent on that shitty liquid that took away my problems only for some amount of time.

And there I was. Standing in the kitchen. The sun had gone down some hours ago and the subtle moonlight was shining deftly through the window. I felt the sting and scorn upon myself, reprimanding myself for the battle I was internally facing. I shouldn’t even be thinking about doing this right now. But I wanted it. I wanted it so bad.

My hand flinched at my side. I stared at the cabinet I should have locked. Should have drained its contents, condemning them to the sink drain days ago. I thought long and not so hard about what would happen if I decided to give in. The obvious would happen. I would end up passed out on the kitchen floor again, and when Tom would arrive to pick me up, he’d find me. Then he would be disappointed in me again like I knew he had been for so long now. And he would silently thank God that I was going to rehab.

If I didn’t, I think I would be alright. I knew I would be just fine. But some part of me wanted to give myself on last hoorah, one last send-off before I killed that part of myself. I found it fair. In the coming weeks, I would be learning how to shut this side of myself off, to ignore it and overcome it. Why not bring it out for one last night?

That hand snaked up through the air, clasping around the metal handle. Cold. Wrong. I slowly opened up the wooden door, peering in at the endless supply of self-medication. I grabbed one bottle. Then another. And another. I reached to the very back of the cabinet until every single bottle was sitting on the counter in front of me. A surprising amount of bottles, relatively full bottles, sat before me.

I picked up the bottle next to me, familiar Jack Daniel’s. The cap unscrewed with ease; the way it met my lips even easier.

Blindly I grabbed the next bottle sitting on the counter. It unscrewed easily as well. And I felt my heart drop as I watched it flow like gold from the glass bottle into the sink where I would never be able to retrieve it. It was gone fast, the empty bottle sitting there.

I took another swig of Jack.

And then I poured out the next bottle.

Then I took anther swig. A long one. Rich in pleasure and just as well to burn.

Then another bottle. Down the sink, just like that.

The rest were gone while the bottle of Jack I had nursed was nearing its end as well.

I said goodbye to every other demon sitting in my cabinet while I downed one of them, just for good measure. I couldn’t waste all of them, after all. In order for a complete send-off, I’d have to do a little drinking. Or an entire bottle’s worth. But the rest were gone, and I assured myself again and again that I wouldn’t be buying any replacements, ever.

The best part was that I believed myself.

And then my eyelids felt really heavy, and my head wanted a place to rest. And then it was all black.

***

The kitchen floor may as well have been named my new bed, for I found myself waking up there again in the morning. A rapid knocking, accompanied by shouts of my name, were heard on the other side of the front door. Tom. He sure was here early.

But of course by the amount of light streaming into the kitchen, I had doubts that it was early at all. I stumbled my way into a standing position, the stove clock telling me that it was almost noon, the time I was due to leave, making the drive to rehab as Tom accompanied me. It took a few tries to get one foot in front of the other, successfully making it over to the door where I unlocked it with clumsy fingers and opened it, standing out of the way while Tom lurched in.

“We’ve to leave in less than half and hour Oliver!” he screeched, his eyes bloodshot and his voice getting hoarse. “I’ve been standin’ at the fuckin’ door for almost an hour, knockin’ the hell out of it.”

I led him back to the kitchen, as I realized it was a mistake, once Tom realized why I hadn’t answered the door sooner.

The empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s was sitting alone on the counter, the numerous other bottles of alcohol sitting near the sink, drained. Tom flashed to me quickly, his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

“Yeh--”

Before he could get anymore worked up than he already was - for why he was in a dither, I had no idea - I cut him off.

“No I didn’t fuckin’ drink them all, you twit,” I said in reassurance as I watched Tom piece himself together. Did he really think I would still be alive if I had drunk all of those? I noticed the way his hair was rumpled and his eyes looked dull. Something was off-putting about him, but I couldn’t quite place what was wrong with him. “I drained ‘em last night down the sink. I were havin’ a little send-off, I guess.”

A dry chuckle escaped my lips, my farewell to drinking somewhat of a pleasant memory, even if most of the memory was black.

“That ain’t no laughin’ matter, Oliver,” Tom spat, running around the kitchen, looking for my duffel bag that I had yet to pack.

“I haven’t packed my bag yet Tommy. Yeh just woke me up,” I reminded him. “What the fuck’s gotten into you, anyways?”

His tired eyes beamed into mine. “Oliver, you’re fuckin’ going to rehab today. Am I not allowed to be distraught? Just the feelin’ that I didn’t do anythin’ earlier to help you, not like you asked for it, but things are tough, alright? I know you’ve it ten times worse, fifty times worse, but seein’ you like this hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park for me!”

It was then that I realized how long I had been affecting every single person I loved. Even if I thought the only person I affected was Addie, I was still too blind to see that maybe the ways I didn’t call my family like I used to had some sort of consequence.

There were a few more moments of silence than would have been necessary. I could hear Tom’s breathing, heaving and lumbered as my own was silent. My eyes darted about the kitchen, to the island and to the empty bottles.

“I’m gonna go hop in the shower,” I muttered, swiftly walking away from the awkward situation that had been the deteriorating relationship between my brother and I.

He sighed, following behind me, right into my room.

“Tom, what the fuck?”

I turned around to find him on my heels as I was about to head into the bathroom.

“I’m packin’ your bag now, so we actually might have a chance of getting you checked in on time,” he said, his voice low and his eyes averted.

Times like these I was reminded yet again that I couldn’t take care of myself. Any ability to function on my own had gone out the window when I started picking up more and more drinks every night.

“Oh, alright,” I mumbled, heading into the bathroom and shutting the door behind me. I could hear Tom rustling around in my dresser and the closet, searching out the duffel as well as the clothes I would need for the next six weeks. I hoped he didn’t forget anything.

By the time I was out of the shower and pulling on new clothes, Tom had my bag packed and ready to go. My hair was dripping still, leaving small droplets on the shoulders of my shirt as we hustled from the flat to the car park. It was cold outside, blustery and raining. Nothing new, only the weather I had been used to for my entire life.

Something new was approaching rapidly though, at fifty-five kilometers per hour. My heart was racing the entire ride there, and by the time we had entered the car park in front of the building, I was sure that my heart was going to pop out of my chest.

Tom grabbed my bag from the trunk of his little VW as I staggered up to the sliding front doors. I wondered if they would be mad at me for coming here with a hangover.

I signed papers while another lady sitting at the front desk pulled Tom aside to talk to him. I watched as their mouths moved while I tried to focus on signing the rest of the papers and contracts. Every piece of paper told me I was in for a lot. It terrified me to look at all of them, what I would be going through and what promises I had to make. But I knew I had to do this, because at this point, there were no other options.

I had to succeed.