In the Month of May

"Honestly, you can leave. I don't even care anymore, just go. Come back if you'd like, but it would be wiser if you didn't. If you don't even know what you did, then that's even worse, but right now, just go. Go and try and comfort someone else."

I walk up the stairs of the hotel corridor twisting my fingers around each other. This happens almost every time I try to be there for someone, they get angry, scared, and send me away to my own means of trying to feel better about myself. I can't really work through this anymore, my mind's going crazy, and so I walk, wringing my fingers together in a nervous gesture.

As I walk, I hear noises coming from behind closed doors. Most of them make me walk closer to the rusty railing keeping me from the edge of the suspended cement. I look down into the concrete as I walk, contemplating, walking closer and closer until my side scrapes against the railings. It leaves scratches against my skin, but I stay close.
I walk and I walk, scratching and wringing, until I hear a sound that is for once familiar. I step closer to the door, lean my ear against its cold metal. The familiar sound tears apart my ears as I step back. I bring my fist to the door, eyes refusing to see who would answer it.

"What are you doing here?" I look up and see another familiar sight, a face welcoming yet changed by the evidence of tears.

"I heard you, I was worried." He looks away, down at his feet, but moves to the side. I walk in hesitantly, trying to leave as much space between us as possible through the narrow doorway. The bottle in his hand swings and screams its presence at me.

He shuts the door and sits on the couch, bringing the bottle to his lips. I walk around, to the bed and sit nearest the edge farthest away from the glass bottle glinting in what little light dances around the room.

We sit in silence, my insides retching and reaching for the bottle, his simply welcoming it with open arms. He refuses to cry in front of me, I can tell, but I know that if I sit still, fight the urges clawing at me, he'll let go.

I've known him two years, at the most, and as we sit, silent and drinking, I remember how I had never seen him anything but strong and secure.
I also remember how I had never seen him with a bottle in his hands.

"If you're going to sit quiet in hopes to get me to talk, give up. It won't work." I shake my head, keeping my eyes on his downturned ones, the only alternative from the bottle.

"I was about to ask." I stand up from the bed, sit in front of his feet. He keeps his eyes away from mine, a constant game of cat and mouse. "What happened?"

He sighs, takes another drink from the bottle. I feel my mind flinch but I stay still. I wait for his lips to open and explain everything, but he only looks at me. We finally lock eyes, dark blue with stony shielded green.

But there is something different dancing inside of those pools of green, they are brighter, though surrounded by red. I remember him never touching a bottle, never locking eyes with anyone, never letting his shield down.

Our eyes break away from each other.

"She left.".

And you break.

Your eyes break their shield forbidding tears. Your hands break their grip around the bottle as it slips from your hands. Your sobs break the silence, break the barrier the nestled itself into your throat. Your heart breaks as your hands curl into fists against your forehead.

I catch the bottle, place it on the floor.
You catch my attention, and break my urge to pour the bottle down my throat.

We break in unison as I wrap my arms around you, pulling you close. You bring your eyes back to mine, and without their shield the history embedded deep into those green irises breaks me in two.

In your eyes the story of you and her unfolds, of how she broke you from the habit of alcohol, kept you away from it for four years. The story of how you always stayed strong breaks its barriers and floods through. In your eyes I can see the strength break and the innocence show its face. The eyes of a man become those of a child as I see the sweetness of innocence dance through your eyes, bloodshot and contrasting to that hidden innocence.

You pull me into your lap and rest your face in my neck. I tell myself to pull away, but I know that if I do, then you'll be left alone. As you hold me tighter, I close my eyes and will for the bottle at our feet to disappear.

You cry into my shoulder, and I try to keep from falling apart myself. I keep you close, refusing to let my instincts and memories get the best of me. I keep you close to me despite everything screaming at me inside of my mind to let you go and walk away.

I keep my arms around you until you pull your face from my neck. You stare at me with bloodshot eyes, the saddest smile I've ever seen gracing itself across your lips. You move your hands from my waist to my hips. I keep myself close to you despite the urge to leave echoing itself once again.

You smile as you say thank you, wrap your arms completely around me. I only smile back, eyes turned away from yours.

You pull me closer, and I can feel the blanket of what's going to happen drape itself over us. As you bring our faces closer and closer, I see the end of your history as your eyes close, and as our lips meet, I taste the bitter sweetness of a childhood lost and ruined.