Cliché

He stared at the can of beer in his hands. It was a cheap beer from a supermarket, but beer nonetheless. He had been clean for one hundred and ninety-four days if he was to drink it. Something inside of his told him to drink it, and that something was what brought him to take the can from the fridge. He continued to stare at it, contemplating to open it. A smirk was on his lips as he closed the fridge door and placed the cold can on the table.

He sat on the chair, running his fingers around the metal rim of the can, they moved to open it. Hesitantly, he did. A small gasp left his mouth, but that was quickly replaced by a soft chuckle. He didn't care if he got hooked again; she would make him go back to rehab. He wrapped his pale hand around the can, and brought it to his lips. He could smell the bitterness of the beer and the sweetness of it overcome him. He was about to take a sip when the front door opened.

She walked into the kitchen, several shopping bags in her hands. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. The bags fell from her hands and she rushed towards him, taking the can from him. A few drops fell onto the table in front of them. "What are you doing?!" He practically yelled at her.

She turned around and walked to the sink. He stood up as he heard the liquid being tipped down the sink. "I'm saving you, Joshua," she told him, simply, "you know what happened the last time you touched alcohol. Why were you going to start again?"

She placed the empty can on the counter and turned to face him again. "You don't understand, Hope," he shouted. She walked forwards, a look of concern on her face. "You didn't understand the first time, why should you understand now?"

"Is it because of your father?"

He scoffed. He knew that it was because of him, but not the reason she thought it was for. He hadn't turned to the beer because his father had died. He turned to the beer to drown any memories of him away. He thought that because his father was gone; the memories could be gone as well. All they did was scar him.

"Yes, Hope, it is. But, not for what you think," he replied, sitting back down. She shook her head and walked forwards. Her hands were on his head, a sigh left her mouth.

"Tell me then, Joshua. I knew something was wrong with you when you didn't shred a single tear at his funeral. Why won't you tell me what he did that was so bad," she mumbled. Her hands moved down to his face and he looked up at her.

"I'm afraid I'll lose you," he said, truthfully. A laugh left her mouth. It was strange for her to laugh when he was being serious. "I'm telling the truth, Hope."

She nodded her head and walked away from him. She picked up the fallen bags and placed them on the table. "If you don't want to tell me, fine. But, just don't drink, okay? I'm going to be removing those cans of beer; I don't even know why I brought them."

He watched as she put her shopping away and as she took the cans out of the fridge. "Do you need any help?" He asked. She shook her head as she smiled at him, softly. That's just what he needed; her smile.