Fictober is here. Therefor, I want to try to be active this month.
In some sick twisted way, Hank had found that liquor could only hold his sanity for so long. Hangovers were a part of his life, just like how everything shitty in his life was bouncing over him. Few things made it easy to open his eyes. More so than usual things were awful. Too much crime, too much shit cramming inside his head before he could recover. He didn't know how long he would be able to breathe without needing help. Not that he would ask for it in the first place.
(Or if he even wanted to wake up again after today and pretend to live. Without him.)
Cole would be disappointed in him. Wherever, he was. If, he wanted to believe in religion that day. The bar was his only stable place when he was outside his semi empty home. The people that saw him all knew to judge less when they walked into a nameless bar. They all had problems themselves to sort than giving any fucks to his. He hadn't bothered to look too deep from his drink; the burn was all that he needed.
All what he wanted until something would probe him back to the real world. He kept hauling his head up, waving another hand. The cups lined up perfectly, unlike his own issues.
He didn't know why he kept coming out from his house, other than paying for the bills and having Sumo around. Hank was getting numb, his emotions were static. Somewhere out there he believed his hell would one day end. His shift was awful, but the day ended the same. With his kitchen table dirty and a loaded gun. He spun it again and again.
He pressed the gun to his head. The trigger was there, so close and taunting him. It almost felt weird that his hands didn't tremble anymore. Alone in his kitchen made it a little more real without other people casting an influence to his words.
He took a deep breath, and when he spoke, all he could ask himself out loud was: "Can you feel this?"
Before he could do it, something snapped behind him. A bark made him flinch from the gun. His eyes searched Hank, the whine was louder to make him feel guilty when he lowered it and took out the bullet. Slowly, he got up from the table and sobbed against Sumo's head for a long time until he allowed his dog to take him back to his room where he slept and slept.