okay so, i just wanted to warn u cuties about this chapter....it gets a little dark and sorry if this is a trigger chapter, but it's kind of important....ya....but if u have anxiety or anything that has to do with drinking/staying sober, i would advise you not to read this chapter alone.....ya well enjoy lol
~*~
“Fine!” I yelled as she stormed out of the front door of my apartment.
“Fine!” She yelled back as she slammed the front door and stomped angrily away.
It felt as though the entire floor shook when she slammed the door. Dust came from the ceiling, cups rattled, various insects and vermin scurried from one hiding place to the next.
“Oh, my god…” I sighed to myself, running my fingers through my hair while sliding down to the floor. I hugged my knees tightly against my chest and thought about crying.
“What the hell happened?” Ashton rushed out of his room once he heard the coast was clear. “I just heard yelling and slamming and I waited until I thought she was gone.”
My bottom lip began to quiver as I looked at Ashton solemnly before asking, “Can you get me some Vodka?”
“Who do you think I am? We don’t even own Vodka,” Ashton grumbled before reaching towards the cabinet where we kept our shot glasses.
I had started a pattern of slamming my head softly into the wall and I didn’t stop when Ashton handed me the glass.
“Michael, you’re going to hurt yourself…” He said as he poured Jack Daniel’s into my glass.
“I don’t fucking care,” with every word I said, I hit my head. Each time was less painless than the next.
“Well, I do, and you should stop doing this to yourself,” he said before crouching down and putting his hand on my shoulder. “Listen, every couple has fights, this was you guys’ first one. It’s no big deal.”
“No, it’s a huge deal,” I blinked and tears instantly spilled out of my eyes. A few got into my glass, but I didn’t care. Whiskey masked the taste of tears for me many times before.
“Just tell me what happened,” Ashton said, making himself comfortable on the small spot of carpet that wasn’t dirty (but everything had a pretty heinous smell).
“She came in pretty upset already – I think it had something to do with her professor, but I’m not sure. Anyway, she came in and started complaining about how dirty it was, and I told her to stop talking about it and just enjoy being here with me, but she kept making subtle hints at it all night long. So I told her that if she hates the mess so much, she should just leave. And here we are,” I finished with a huge sigh and slumped even further to the ground. I wanted to cry, I wanted to call her back inside and kiss her until she couldn’t smell the mess – but all I could do was drink and sigh.
“Michael,” Ashton began unsteadily. I knew what he was going to suggest.
“No. I don’t need it. I don’t want it, and I never will,” I cut him off hastily, taking another sloppy swig from the bottle (completely ignoring the shot glass).
“I know you don’t want it – you made that very clear earlier today – but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it.” Ashton’s tone softened up. I knew he cared about me, and I knew he only wanted what was best for me.
“I don’t want any fucking help from a shrink or whoever your uncle is, okay? I don’t need any fucking help, all I need is alcohol,” I replied, taking a long swig from the bottle. The whiskey burned my throat and caused me to choke and sputter, spilling a bit on the already musty carpet. Who knows how many times I’ve done this – how many stains I’ve created in scenarios similar to this one.
