Chapter 10 - Make Me
Make my soul clean
Pour the gasoline
Burning all the fears away
Make the rain come
Make the pain numb
Washing all the stains away - Kristen Agee
Ten days. Ten days and I could probably tick down every second of every minute of every day if this headache could go away.
I stand on my balcony, the french doors open letting in the breeze that I hope will cleanse my home. The lights are off inside but the sun shines bright as it begins to dip lower and lower in the horizon threatening to bathe me in total darkness.
My home is not mine anymore because for the last ten days I share it with nightmares and demons and blood and pain. An acrid smell still lingers as proof of the blood which was spilled in the living area, the death administered by my own hand.
He needed to die, there was no alternatives for that bastard, no thought of jail when I know he could raise an army even behind bars. Webb and his cronies were quick to chastise me and insist there should have been another way; there wasn't. I could never rest unless Sadik Fahd was separated from this Earth.
I take a breath and wince, my ribs still hurt from where he got a few good shots in. My shoulder is bruised and sore. He's dead, I should be able to heal but my nights are still restless and my days are spent on my couch staring into nothingness.
All the hobbies that always held my interest give me little joy and there's this neverending ache in my stomach, my heart. Each morning I hope it will go away but it hasn't. Maybe tomorrow? There's always tomorrow.
I sigh deeply as I stare into the living room finding one ice cold beacon in the dark, an old friend that comforted me in my youth and nearly killed me at one point. I've never been to the liquor store but a run to clear my head had me stopping at a corner where one stood. It's blinking neon sign beckoned me inside and with sweaty palms that I rubbed against my shorts, I walked in.
Overwhelmed I walked through the aisles glancing at bottle after shiney bottle of wines, bourbons, tequilas and whiskeys. There were spirits I've never heard of, beers and specialty liquors but at the far end was my old friend.
I'd never once bought a bottle myself and always drank of whatever swill my father or Chris had available. I knew that there were finer brands, exotic flavors and as I reached for one I decided to find a higher end variery.
The liquid coated the sides of the bottle smoothly, the cashier recommended leaving it in the freezer for a day or to increase the viscosity and keep the texture smooth.
Smooth, yes. I wanted that! I deserved it after playing the good girl for so long. I yearned to feel that burn down my throat, the warmth in my tummy, the numbing effects that would help me drift to sweet oblivion. I even bought a set of fine glassware for the occasion, a tumbler where I would have it neat without adding any silly concoction.
I would put it in the freezer, wait two days and then...Only Harm would interrupt the cracking of the seal as I twisted the cap. He'd been out of the hospital for less than a day and already the crusade to leave messages - four to be exact - had begun.
He loved me. He was sorry. He missed me. It was always the same and though I can't deny I cared for him, I put and end to this thing between us some time ago. The Admiral placed him on leave until he recovered which gave him time to follow me, an act that came to an abrupt end when I told him to stop.
"I'm fine….I'm getting help." I lied in an effort to stop him from worrying. But there were still more calls and more messages that I deleted because I couldn't bear to hear his voice anymore.
And so each day the bottle of vodka went back into my freezer, the contents still intact, the seal not fully broken. Until tonight.
It's wrong. My brain reasons as I recall how terrible a hangover can feel. The dehydration, the spinning room, throwing up, dry heaves and the utmost sense of absolute sickness until you drink again. Nope, I surely don't miss the hangovers but almost crave what comes before.
"Mac, it's Harm...look I'm getting really worried. You want me to keep away, fine but I need to know you're alright...I need to see it."
Damn, I forgot to turn off the volume on the answering machine, its blinking light reminding me of the message he just left. "Why can't you leave me alone?!" I say out loud but it almost sounds like a scream.
For all of my bravado it takes me a few hours to find the guts to step inside and close the door on the outside world. I drew the curtains so no one could see and illuminate the living room with the flame burning from a candle.I want it as dark as possible so that I can hide the sin I'm about to comit.
The bottle is still cool to the touch, condensation drips from it to form a circular pool on my coffee table. I wrap my hand around the cap and it takes nothing more than a mild flick of my wrist to fully break the seal. Christ, it's been a while since I've smelled this, the purest scent of alcohol imaginable. They say you can't smell vodka due to its distilling process but tell that to an addict.
Don't pour it!!!
My mind screams but I laugh as I tip the bottle and I'm mesmerized how the clear liquid pours thickly into the tumbler. It's even more stunning to see it swirling in the glass, to get my first tiny taste when a tiny drop lands on my hand and I lick it off.
The alcohol burns my tongue as the devil inside me sings a chant that draws the tumbler to my lips. Drink! Drink! Drink!
It's my shaking hand that empties most of the contents on the ground, the forces of good and evil going to battle in front of me. It's that blinking light, that stupid blinking light on my answeing machine and the seventeen messages he'd left in the span of ten days.
Seventeen. Not one or four or six or ten. Seventeen, my internal clock kept count of each and everyone even the times I just hit delete.
"You're not just a drunk...you're a mean drunk." Harm's voice makes the glass drop out of my hand and it hits the carpet with a muffled thud. The bottle asks me to drink from him directly, to tip it back and drown myself until I am no more.
Drink! Drink! Drink!"...you're a mean drunk…"
Tears begin to cloud my vision and my head feels like someone has taken a jackhammer and is mercilessly chipping away. My breathing is erratic, the cool bottle in my hand still that friend I long to reunite with again. But it's wrong...so damned wrong.
"Mac if you don't answer I'll-"
Before I realize it my hand reaches for the phone and interrupts what would have been his eighteenth message. "Harm...I need you." My voice is a whimper, choked with tears and so fragile.
He actually breathes a sigh of relief. "I'm on my way."