Page 35 of Inevitable Destruction

Nothing.

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Two weeks—orat least I think it’s been two weeks—have come and gone in a blur of drugs and booze. I haven’t been aware of time, space, or people.

Instead, I’ve holed myself up in my apartment—in my own bed specifically—surrounded by empty bottles of alcohol, ranging from Vodka to whiskey and everything in between.

The only drugs I’ve had are the fucking pills I have now run out of because Jay, the fucking piece of shit he is, won’t sell to me anymore, and I’ve lost connections with who I used to go through a few years ago. Even if I did, I’m not sure I want to go back to that place…

I dig my nails into my arm, feeling my skin gather underneath as I dig in and scratch. The sting does nothing but piss me off. Desperation is sinking in, and I’m doing everything I can to resist, but I’ve never been one for self-control.

I’m a fucking addict. Impulse control isn’t a thing.

I roll over and clutch my side as a wave of nausea overcomes me. I retch and dry heave, my stomach as empty as the fucking cupboards in my kitchen. The sharp stabbing sensations work their way through my stomach, aiming high, just under my ribs to my lower stomach, near my groin.

I pant through the agony my body is in until it passes. It always passes, and once it does, I stretch my arm out, red and bleeding, grabbing ahold of a bottle. When I bring it to my face, my blurry eyes can barely make out the label. I squint. Something with a…

“Fuck it,” I rasp. I let my head fall to the mattress and open my throat as the rim hits my chapped lips. The liquor pours down my throat, scorching hot and disgusting, but I don’t give a fuck. Numbness is what I want.

When it stops pouring, I pull the bottle away, and the very distinct flavor of fucking pine trees lingers on my tongue.

“Ugh, what the fuck,” I spit. “Gin? Who the hell drinks gin?”

My arm falls to the side, and my knuckles smack the floor, a wave of pain radiating up my arm. I groan softly and roll until my front half is hanging off the bed. Keeping my grip on the bottle with my left hand, I grip my waistband and shove my sweatpants down my thighs. I bring the opening of the bottle to my dick and line them up. I release my bladder into the bottle, and when I’m done, I blindly drop it to the floor where it lands with a dull thud.

Not bothering to pull my pants back up, I scoot back until I’m fully on the bed again and close my eyes, allowing my body to succumb to exhaustion.

My eyes drag open to the sound of repetitive knocking. For a second, I think it’s just a dream, but then it resumes again, in a pattern of two then three knocks in quick succession. I roll over and smack my phone to check the time, but the screen remains black. Must be dead.

Groaning, I raise to a sitting position and grab my head. It falls into my palms heavily since I’m unable to hold it up. It feels like two cinder blocks are weighing it down. The knocking resumes, and I let out a growl of frustration.

Fuck whoever the hell is here.

Somehow, I manage to stand without falling over and stumble the entire way to the front door where the incessant fucking knocking continues.

“Whoever the fuck you are, you better hope you’re bothering me for a good goddamn reason,” I bite out, wrenching the doorknob and yanking it open after flipping the deadbolt.

Jay’s eyes widen as he takes me in, his jaw hanging slack like he just saw a three headed dragon.

“The fuck are you looking at?” I try to tighten my grip on the doorknob, but my hand is weak, so it just slips instead.

“Where the hell have you been, bro? I thought you fucking died or some shit. I’ve been calling you for days.” He pushes past me into my apartment, and I stumble.

“Sure; let yourself in, dude.” I scoff and slam the door. Jay strolls right in like he owns the place and takes a seat on the arm of a chair while still taking in my place. I do the same and hold back a grimace. The place is a mess, sure. Trash and clothes litter the living room, and dirty dishes are piled high in the sink, but that’s about the extent of it.

At least he can’t see my room.

“What do you want?” I ask as I take a seat on the couch. My apartment is pretty basic with its features, and the kitchen and living room are separated only by a small wall, making the place appear smaller than it is.

“I told you. I was worried because I haven’t heard from you,” he trails off. “And from the looks of it—”

“Fuck you, man. If that’s all you needed, you can go.” I force myself to my feet, but he quickly rises as well.

“No. Shit, I’m sorry.” He runs his fingers through his golden-blonde hair and tugs on the straight ends. “I wanted to check on you, that’s all. I’m not trying to insult you.” He sits back down before standing again and shuffling on his feet.

I bite back a smile of amusement at how visibly uncomfortable he is.

“I also, uh—want to come to a party with me tonight? One of the sororities is throwing it. Will’s girlfriend’s, I think, but they ended up crashing our place, anyway.”

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