Alfred poured himself another glass of whiskey. He knew he should have stopped a long time ago, but he wanted- needed- more. Another glass to try and drown out his failures.
"Alfred!" Matthew rushes into the study, snatching the bottle from Alfred's grasp. "How many glasses have you had?"
"Mattie. I need that! Give it back!" Alfred made a drunken grab to take the amber liquid back.
"No Al! You said you'd quit for me!" Mattie deftly moved the bottle from Alfred's reach.
The American chuckled. "I've tried being the one the one that everybody loved. Where has that gotten me? I end up tearing myself to shreds to prove that I'm someone that I could never be."
The Canadian turned the alcohol bottle upside-down, dumping its contents onto the floor.
"MATTIE! Why did you do that!" Alfred screamed at him, grabbing him by the collar. Alfred yanked up and soon Mattie was suspended only by a tight collar, cutting off his airway.
"You goddamn idiot! Why would you do that to me! You were always the good boy! The perfect one! Always following rules! Everyone liked you more than me! Dad wished that he could replace me with you so much." Mattie's vision was becoming dark and he scratched harder at the hands that were shaking him.
"Goddamn it! I wish I had been you instead! Then you can grow up with a bastard who never gave a shit unless he was wasted!" As a last ditch effort, and partly because he could not move his arms anymore, Mattie went limp, hoping AL would realize what he was doing. The American, who was so enraged, seemed to realize what he had done and dropped the Canadian.
"M-Mattie? Oh my god. I'm sorry! HELP ME! PLEASE, SOMEONE COME QUICK!" Alfred yelled into the hall to an assistant as Matthew gasped in the much desired air. Alfred kneeled next to him, hands fluttering around Matthew's body, unsure of what to do.
"God, what have I become?" He sobbed. "I think I am losing it. Forgive me; I inherited this from a stranger I'll never miss. . . I'm sick." As color returned to Matthew's face, Alfred got up, not trusting himself anymore.
Snatching another unopened whiskey from his desk he ran out into the street. Ripping off the top, Alfred gulped down the liquid fire. Soon he couldn't see straight or think straight anymore, which was how he preferred it. "Here's to my own family tradition. Following footsteps into addiction. Your only son still can't seem to find his way." And toasted the empty ally where he was slumped. "Father where the hell are you now? I think that you would be proud. Your son, so unluckily, fell right next to the tree." The last thing he remembered as he slowly blacked out into unconsciousness was thinking over and over "I hope you're proud of me… I hope you're proud…"
