Page 8 of Captured Immune

“Don’t even think about skipping tonight. If you don’t show up to rehearsal by four, I’ll drive over there and throw water balls at you until you beg me to stop.”

“Can’t I get one pass?” I prop my phone up against my salt shaker. It’s too much effort to hold my phone up.

“Hell no. I’ve given you passes for two days.” That’s true. I skipped our recording session yesterday and our writing session the day before that. “It’s not good for you to be alone, T. I know how you get.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Have you been staying sober?”

“Unfortunately,” I say with a scoff.

“Good. Now get yourself together and show up tonight.”

Let’s see...Get pounded with water by Liz or leave my house and be forced to talk to other humans? I think I’ll take the water balls.

“Come on, T. Please?”

I sigh heavily. “Fine.”

“Fabulous. I’ll see you later then. And for the love of all things holy, please, trim your beard.”

I rub my palm against my long chin hairs. “Is it that bad?”

“You look like the Wish version of Henry Cavill.”

On Thursday, only because hunger is clawing a hole through my stomach, I force myself to make some lunch. For the first time in months, I’m cooking for one—that is, if sticking a frozen pizza into the oven counts as cooking.

On Friday, I arrive home from the Soul House mentally exhausted. The fans got a halfhearted performance from me tonight. During the meet and greet, I fake-smiled for all the photos until it was finally over. All of it felt trivial. What’s the point when I don’t have her?

I can’t take it anymore.I need the pain to stop, and I need it to stop now.

I don’t register that my feet have moved until I’m already in the kitchen with the cabinet open. From it, I drag down a half bottle of bourbon, some tequila, and a tiny bit of vodka. I don’t think about it as I unscrew the vodka cap and chug it all in one breath. It burns on its way down my throat.

The tequila is next. It takes three breaths to finish.

The bourbon takes four.

This isn’t enough to get me buzzed, and I need to black out. Years of being a drunk have built up my alcohol tolerance. Couple that with my body filtering it out way faster than the average Ordinary can, and I’m gonna need at least three more bottles—full ones.

My nights used to be filled with popping questionable pills and trying any z-drug I could get my hands on. Hollow sex with women in skimpy outfits. Meaningless fights with big guys in bars. Talking shit to bouncers at clubs, just to get them to drive a hard one into my face. I used to do anything so I could feel something other than the emptiness in my chest.

Two years ago, I cleaned up. Liz made me realize that a pathetic trainwreck isn’t what I want to be. Tonight, I don’t give a shit what I am.

Through heavy rainfall, I drive to the nearest liquor store, getting there ten minutes before closing. Something makes me go apeshit in the aisles. I toss practically every hard liquor in sight into my basket.

When I arrive back home, I don’t waste a second. In my silent living room, on the vacant couch, I rip the seal off a bottle and chug.

The last time I drank with the intent of passing out was after I got the call telling me the cancer had finally taken Elliott. I would have given anything to cure that precious little boy. Right now, I’d give anything to have Arella back.

She would hate me if she saw me drinking like this. The smell of alcohol triggers bad memories of her ex in her head. Because of that, I never drank around her.And now, she’s gone.

Only once two bottles lie empty beside me do I start to feel something. The blackout is coming, but it’s not coming fast enough, so I reach for another bottle.Bottoms up.

2

ARELLA

It’s been seven days.Seven slow, tormenting days.

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