It had been a rough one. Worse than most other days, but still not his worst day. His worst day had happened back when he was still a civilian and wore shoulder pads every Friday night.
That in mind, this one had been close. As close as it could get without any of their lives being lost.
His eyes stung with tears about to spill. He dipped his head down low before he reached for the near full bottle of whiskey which was standing at the end of the table.
He didn't bother with a glass, he just put the bottle to his lips and swallowed down. He didn't even bother putting the cap back on once he had to take a break.
The first teardrop fell in silence. The next five followed suit. All of the sudden he had damn waterfalls cascading down his cheeks.
He took another long sip. The whiskey was burning all the way down. Making his stomach feel all weird, but also comfortable in a numb way. He liked that numb feeling.
He laid down on his couch, his head propped up on the armrest, his legs hanging off the other armrest of the two-seater. The waterfalls changed direction and some of the salty droplets ended up inside of his ears.
A couple of mouthfuls later, he didn't really care about much. Only thing he cared about was the numbness and how he preferred that to everything else. He didn't care about anything else, didn't notice the light ebbing away outside, didn't notice time slipping by. Only thing catching his eye was when he picked the bottle up for the nth time and it was near weightless.
A few drops of amber liquid teased him in the bottle of the clear bottle. He put it to his lips and got the last few drops as well.
He studied the empty bottle with as much concentration he could muster after a three-quarter flask of whiskey. He wanted more. Needed more.
He looked towards the cabinet where he usually kept stuff like that, and remembered that the bottle in his hand had been the last bottle the last time a few of the guys were over to have some fun and watch some sports.
He let his head fall forward, he was empty. Probably didn't even have a single cold beer in the fridge.
He raised to his feet, walked over to the sink and washed his face. He needed more booze, and the easiest way to get it was to walk down to the corner store and buy some. He just had to look like he hadn't already drank half a liquor store.
SEALTEAM
He knew it was a shit way to deal with the problem. He knew better. Of course he knew better. Like just about everybody else, he had drunks in his family too.
One uncle and one aunt on his dad's side. His grandpa and grand-uncle on his mom's side.
He sure wasn't one himself. No. He didn't drink regularly, didn't even get that drunk most times he drank either.
But buying two bottles of cheap whiskey at 2 p.m., when you're already way past tipsy wasn't a good look. -But if they only saw what he had seen over the last 72 hours, they'd know why he needed this. They'd know he wasn't just a drunk. They'd know that this was much needed therapy.