Bottle To His Head…
Millhouse's world was all a groggy blur. His head ached. His stomach felt a sickening, boiling stew. His head was throbbing with pain, pulsing between each step, making walking all the more difficult. His knees buckled. He fell on the bed.
Blind with pain and drunkenness, he felt for a bottle. He felt the cold, smooth glass. He brought the bottle to his mouth. After several tries, he realized that the cap was still on; after a few more, he finally decided to unscrew the lid. He was too numb to feel whether or not the aluminium lid was still on, but knew it, in his poisoned mind. He gulped, now too numb to feel the burn of the whiskey.
He drained the bottle. He tossed it aside. Didn't hear it shatter…didn't care. He crawled, swaying, trembling, along the bed. He reached out, waving his arm through black space. It hit something hard. He felt along it. His fingers grasped something cold, metal. He pulled it in close. He saw her smiling face. His tears blurred his vision even more. Darkness crept in along the edges of his sight. It all went black.
His last thoughts were of Lisa.