SEVEN DAYS

Wednesday

12:01 AM

The liquid looked like tequila, but when I put the rim of the cup to my lips and tossed the drink to the back of my throat, it wasn't as strong as I expected it to be. Nevertheless, it burnt my esophagus on the way down. I fought the urge to cough as I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth.

"You sure you don't want a drink?" I asked Bryce.

Bryce shook his head from across the table. "Where exactly did you get a fake ID?" he enquired.

I smirked at him. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Not really."

"Not a drinker?"

He shrugged. "Never tried the stuff."

"Seriously?" I took a look around the restaurant. We were still the only ones in here, and I couldn't help but wonder how this place stayed afloat with the lack of customers. Nevertheless, the emptiness would work to our advantage tonight. Our young waitress was nowhere to be seen, so I poured another drink and slid it across the table towards Bryce.

His eyes went wide as he stopped the cup with his hand. "I can't have this!" he exclaimed quietly. "I'm not old enough. And I don't have a fake ID like you. Even if I did, the owners know I'm in high school." He glanced behind him. "We could get in trouble."

"Says the guy who scales school walls every Monday morning."

'Not every Monday morning," he countered. "Only some."

"Whatever. Stop being such a bitch and just drink it."

He looked down at the alcohol as if it was a hissing snake. But then he took the cup and held it to his lips, quickly tossing the stuff in his mouth. I cringed, knowing he was going to regret the one shot, and only a moment later he began to hack his lungs out. I couldn't help but burst into laughter as he tried to muffle his coughing fit, his eyes tearing up as he looked around again, obviously still scared of getting caught.

I poured him another drink as I told him, "I was worried you weren't going to do it. Here, another one."

He accepted the second serving without protest, though this time he sipped it. His cheeks were already flushed as he looked across the table at me, and the colour made the red tinge in his eyes stand out. I guessed I could understand why there was a lineup of girls waiting to go out with him.

He grinned again as he finished the cup, leaning back in the booth. "Alcohol is disgusting," he said, and we burst out laughing.

By two A.M. we were both pretty drunk, Bryce's face flushed a bright pink now and my posture worse than usual. "Fuck off," I scoffed. "Like you met James Hetfield in person. You think I'd actually believe that?"

"It's the truth," Bryce countered, his eyes lighting up. "I'm not lying."

"Right, because you never lie." I shook my head at the table top, but I couldn't help but be amused. This night had turned out better than I had expected, back when all I had to look forward to was milk and cereal for dinner and an empty motel room for company. I would never consider admitting that to Bryce, however. To top it all off, the alcohol was making it increasingly easier to not think about things I didn't want to, like Sam and my dad. That woman...

I felt the edge of a shadow begin to creep upon my good mood. When I looked back up, Bryce wasn't smiling anymore. He was staring at the soju cup, which he was abstractedly spinning and tilting on the table's surface. t was as if he had picked up on my bad mood, maybe recalling things he didn't want to think about either.

"You gonna tell me what all that was about back there?" I asked, bringing up the topic before I could stop myself. If I was being honest with myself, which alcohol tended to encourage, I was a bit curious as to why Bryce had been targeted by his classmates.

Bryce continued to stare at the counter as he immediately replied, "No."

"Why not?" I enquired, feeling a little angry at the guy's blunt evasiveness.

He turned his eyes on me, pausing for a moment before saying, "Because then I would be a liar."

I was going to press further, but then I decided to let the topic be dropped, partially because I knew I shouldn't care. I had nothing to do with the guy.

A stretch of silence grew between us until Bryce said quietly, "My birth mom was Korean." He looked around the restaurant, peering at the writing scrawled on the wall. "I grew up with adoptive parents. I never knew my father, and my mom died giving birth to me."

Was this his explanation? "I'm sorry to hear that," I said, not really sure what else I could offer. I wondered if Redhead's comment, about Bryce having killed someone before, was a reference to the kid's mother. If it was, the guy was crueler than I had first thought. It was one thing to bully someone because you were a dumb prick, but to take a dig like that? It made me wish that I had gotten the chance to kick the guy's ass after all.

"Thanks," Bryce said. Then after a bit of hesitation he added, "I'm really glad you decided to go out with me tonight."

"Wait a second," I said, digesting the words through my alcoholic haze and realizing what they might mean. "We aren't- I mean, you don't think this is a…" I couldn't finish the question.

Bryce blinked at me. "Of course it is."

I gaped at the guy. I couldn't help it. "This isn't a date," I practically shouted. Then I remembered we were in a public place and lowered my voice, glowering at Bryce instead. "We're just hanging out. As classmates."

The guy shrugged, smiling mischievously. "Call it what you must."

I let out a huff of disbelief. "Wow, really? You tricked me into this, didn't you? That whole thing in the convenience store was probably just a scam. You just wanted-" I saw the smile disappear from Bryce's face and immediately realized my mistake. "Sorry," I apologized as I looked down at the tabletop again.

"No, it's okay," Bryce said after a while. "I was just teasing you about the dating thing, but I really do appreciate you hanging out with me. We should do it again sometime."

I nodded, feeling awkward now. "Yeah, that wouldn't be too bad."

"And thanks for stepping in back at the store. Brad isn't usually that big of an asshole."

I made the leap that Brad was the redhead. "Don't worry about it. I would have stepped in for anyone. I don't like being a witness to unfair fights."

He smiled a little. "Not many would have done the same."

I grunted in response. I was surprised when our waitress came back and told us that the meal was on the house. Bryce explained that he knew the owners personally, and I was left to wonder again how the restaurant made a profit. I decided it was probably a front for the Korean mafia or something, if such a thing existed.

"Do you live far?" Bryce asked once we were outside again.

It had grown colder, and I pulled my jacket tighter around me as I answered, "Just up the street."

"Well, I live that way." He pointed in the opposite direction. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

I waved a hand in farewell and began walking up the road towards the motel. I was almost out of view of the restaurant when I glanced over my shoulder. Bryce was sitting on the curb beneath one of the streetlamps, his elbows resting on his knees.

I hesitated for a moment, knowing I was probably going to regret my decision, but then walked slowly back down the road. He didn't hear me approach, for he jumped when I said, "You too drunk to walk or something?"

He stared at me for a second before replying, "I don't... I don't really want to go home right now."

I knew the feeling. I wasn't exactly ecstatic to get back to my empty motel room either. I had been planning to have a television marathon in order to stop myself from sleeping, but now that I thought about it…

"Hey… What's your stance on playing hooky tomorrow?"

Bryce looked puzzled. "Hooky?"

"You do know what hooky is, don't you?" I asked, skeptical. Bryce shook his head and I almost laughed. "It means skipping school, which I doubt you've ever done. Am I right?" The guy looked away, slightly irritated, and this time I did chuckle. "You don't want to go home and I don't exactly feel like sleeping tonight, so how about we hang out until the morning?"

He looked a little taken aback, then a little wary, like he thought I was playing some kind of prank on him. But then his guard seemed to crumble as he nodded his head. "Yeah, that would be cool."

It didn't take us long to reach the motel, and to Bryce's credit he didn't comment on the fact that I was leading him into the dive until we stopped in front of my room. "You live in a motel? " His voice was full of doubt. "Or did you plan this all along just to take advantage of me?"

"You wish." I shoved him with a fake scowl on my face. "It's only temporary."

He looked like he was about to comment further, but then he shrugged too. "I guess it's pretty cool. I mean, you can get room service whenever you want."

"This place doesn't exactly have room service," I said as I took out the key and unlocked the door, glad he hadn't made a bigger deal about my living conditions. "We're lucky there's a minifridge."

I was about to turn the knob and push when a thought occurred to me. I glanced at Bryce and then said, "Give me a minute to clean up, would you? It's pretty messy in there."

He shrugged. "Sure, if you want. Though I'm not gonna judge or anything."

I could care less whether the room was cluttered or not, but I told him I'd only take a moment before I slipped into the room and flicked on the light switch. Taking my coat off and hanging it on a hook, I looked around. Between the beds, on the night table, was a glock. I quickly walked over to it and grabbed it, stuffing it into a dresser drawer beneath some of my clothes. Then came the flask labelled 'holy water' sitting atop the minifridge. Several newspaper articles Sam had collected that had looked suspicious and could lead to cases. The overflowing first aid kit sitting on the bathroom counter. A sawed off shotgun leaning against the wall in the corner next to the TV.

When I was satisfied that the room looked at least semi-normal, I opened the door and welcomed Bryce in. "Welcome to my humble abode," I said, sweeping a hand in an arc before me. "Make yourself at home.

"It's not half bad." Bryce flung himself on one of the beds, bouncing as he hit the mattress. "Now, what's on TV?"

We spent a few hours watching SNL and The Simpsons reruns, then made fun of a few late night infomercials before I noticed Bryce's eyelids drooping. I told him I needed to take a shower. By the time I was done Bryce was already sleeping. He had curled up into a ball on the bed, still in his jeans and top. I climbed into the other bed, realizing it was six in the morning. I wondered how long I would have to lie here before Bryce woke up again, fighting exhaustion. I was not looking forward to it.

1:27 PM

I didn't know if it was the alcohol that had kept the nightmares at bay, but when I opened my eyes and realized I had been asleep for seven hours, I could hardly believe it. I didn't even remember falling asleep. The TV was still on, so I assumed I had dozed off while watching it. The last thing I remembered was a bad infomercial advertising spray-on-hair for balding men.

I sat up in bed, my lips dry and my head aching, but my eyes not raw from exhaustion and my head not fuzzy from sleeplessness. I had a bit of a hangover, but even so I felt fantastic compared to the last few days. Or make that weeks.

I glanced to my right, recalling that Bryce had slept over. The other bed was empty, and for a moment I thought he had left, perhaps too scared to play hooky after all. But then I heard the click of a lock and the kid was strolling out of the bathroom, his hair damp and his clothes wrinkled. He looked like shit, and he groaned as he went back to his bed and sat on the edge.

"Alcohol is horrible. Why do people drink it if it makes them feel this way afterwards?"

I chuckled, recalling the first hangover I had ever had, back when I was twelve. John had discovered me drunk out of my mind one night, having stolen one of his scotch bottles, and had shown me no mercy the next morning when I thought my head was going to split open and my intestines were going to be puked up. He had told me it was my fault for getting drunk, and that I had to accept the consequences.

"Breakfast?" I heard myself ask. "It'll help. Trust me."

Bryce crawled back onto his pillow. "The idea of food makes me feel nauseous."

I shuffled off the bed, grabbing a pair of jeans and putting them on. Then I threw my own pillow at Bryce, causing him to groan again. "Come on, get up. Playing hooky isn't fun if you spend it all sleeping."

Our breakfast consisted of bacon, eggs, and toast at a shabby diner a few blocks away. It wasn't the best I had ever had, but it certainly wasn't the worse. I insisted on paying, mainly because I knew Bryce was a typical, broke teenager who didn't have a budding set of poker skills to fuel his piggy bank.

We decided to go watch a movie after that, heading up to the waterfront and agreeing on "Bulletproof". Wasn't one of my favourite Adam Sandler movies, but it wasn't a bad way to spend the afternoon. Definitely beat trying to stay awake in English class.

As we were exiting the theatre, my hand still shovelling popcorn into my mouth, I noticed that Bryce had stopped walking. I glanced at what he was staring at and saw that he had his sights set on an arcade game. It was one of those rip-off ones, with the claw that looked like it could barely handle the weight of a tissue, let alone a stuffed animal. Even so, people continued to insert their money in it in the hopes that they would finally win, and I was no different.

I strolled over to the game, taking a dollar bill out of my wallet. "Bet I can get that lobster in the corner," I said, nodding at the stuffed animal.

Bryce had come up beside me, and now he pointed to the middle of the heap. "No, get that one."

"The purple elephant?" I asked him, wondering why he had picked that one. I had only chosen the lobster because it looked like it was in an easy position and was probably the manliest option available. But I never ran from a challenge, and that purple elephant had my full attention now.

"You're probably just wasting your money, you know."

"Fuck you," I laughed. "Watch this."

I slid the bill into the slot and the machine came to life, colourful lights flashing and a campy circus tune emanating from hidden speakers. The claw shook and then began to rise, swinging to the right as I manoeuvred the hand-held controls. It stalled for a moment above the purple elephant and I took the time to send a cocky smirk to Bryce. The claw dropped, slowly clamping around the stuffed animal. As it began to rise, the elephant clutched in its grip, I was already celebrating my victory, hooting at no one in particular. Bryce grinned from beside me as we watched the elephant float through the air.

However, as the claw stopped above the deposit box and released the prize, the elephant's trunk got caught on the edge of the box and became stuck. For a moment neither of us said anything, too shocked to speak as the machine shut down and the space became dark and quiet again. "Wow, Dean," Bryce said, staring at the sad elephant. "You're really good at this."

I looked over at him and was met with a straight face. However, it didn't hold long and soon Bryce was erupting into laughter. I went to grab him, to put him in a headlock for laughing at my misfortune, but he broke free and ran out of the theatre and into the misty rain that had started up, still laughing. I chased him and we didn't seem to care that our clothes were becoming soaked as we ran down the street and across the boardwalk, hollering and hooting and laughing.

We eventually stopped, out of breath but still grinning, and came to rest on the boardwalk's edge. We looked out at the ocean, the sky grey and miserable, the sand soggy and wet, the waves foamy and angry, but the sight still beautiful.

"What would you have done with a purple elephant anyway?" I asked, my breathing almost regular again.

"Would have given it to my sister," Bryce answered.

"You have a sister?" I was surprised. Bryce had never mentioned her before. Then again, how long had I known the guy for?

"Yeah," the guy smiled. "She would have loved a purple elephant."

I looked out at the sea, sighing. "Well, tell your sister she'll still be getting one. That game isn't going anywhere soon."

Bryce looked at me. "Seriously?"

I was almost offended as I replied, "Of course. What, you think I'm gonna let some campy-ass machine like that beat me? You obviously don't know me."

He smiled slightly as he held my gaze. "No, I don't. But I think I'm starting to."

I was taken aback for a moment, but then I cleared my throat and glanced away. "Yeah, I'll come back here sometime later this week when I have some more change. I'll win it for her then, okay? Tell her that."

"I'm sure she'll be happy to hear it." But his voice had lost its excitement. The kid's face had grown somber and I wondered if he was replaying the other night in his head, the fight in the convenience store.

"People can be real assholes," I told him.

He looked at me strangely. "Are you calling me an asshole?"

I scoffed. "You may be annoying as hell, but I wasn't talking about you. I meant those sons of bitches back in the store yesterday. You shouldn't let them get to you."

Bryce shrugged, looking back out towards the sea. "Sometimes assholes can be right though."

"About it being your fault for killing your mom? Bullshit. You weren't responsible for that."

He frowned. "I know that."

"Then what the fuck is eating at you?"

"Nothing is."

I didn't buy that for a second. I recognized that look on his face. I had seen it in the mirror a dozen times before. I couldn't believe I was about to play this card, but...

"If you're my... If you're a... If you're a boyfriend, aren't you supposed to tell the other everything?"

"The other?"

I scowled. "You know what I fucking mean."

The boy's lips turned upwards in that slow, faint smile of his. "Are you calling me your boyfriend, Dean?"

I groaned as I looked down and ran a hand through my hair. I was obviously uncomfortable, but the son of a bitch seemed to be enjoying it. I heard him chuckle and felt a spike of annoyance. "Just tell me what's going on," I said, lifting my head and scowling to let him know I was being serious. "One moment you're all happy, the next you look like someone just ran over your puppy."

Bryce's smile vanished as he shook his head. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"Do what?" My brow crinkled in confusion.

"Care about me."

I almost took a step back, the verbal blow resembling a physical one. Before I could say anything in response, Bryce was speaking again.

"I know I'm a burden. I know you didn't seriously ask me out that day, and that you're not interested. I'm not disillusioned. So just hang with me once in a while until Sunday night, and then you won't have to talk to me ever again, all right?"

I frowned. "Why wouldn't I talk to you ever again?"

"Because I make you uncomfortable."

"You don't make me uncomfortable," I explained. "Well, you sort of do, but it's all right. I guess I'm just not… I'm just not used to having friends."

He gave me a quizzical look. "What are you talking about? You're popular."

I scoffed. "Being popular and having friends is not the same thing. You think anyone at school knows a single true thing about me? No fucking way. And they don't give a shit, either, unless it involves when and how many times I've had sex with Katie Lancaster."

Bryce contemplated that. "To be honest, I don't know much about you either."

I shrugged. "Well, you know how many times I've had sex with Katie Lancaster, don't you?"

"I've heard a few different numbers, actually. From twelve to two hundred."

I shoved him playfully. "Those numbers are low."

Bryce grinned but then grew serious again as the joke faded. "I'm not used to it either," he said after a span of silence.

"Used to what?"

"Having friends."

We stood there in more silence for a moment, but it wasn't awkward. Our clothes and hair damp, our noses full of the scent of the ocean. For once, I felt like I actually did have a friend.

"Let's get out of here," I finally said, and we began to make our way off the boardwalk, back towards the movie theatre and the bus stop we'd have to wait by to get home. Bryce had stopped looking somber and I figured I'd stop bugging him about what was on his mind. It really wasn't any of my business, even if we were friends.

We were talking about our high school gym teacher's perpetually hard nipples, and how he always wore a skin tight shirt to show them off, when I had my second attack of that week.

It began with a dog. A stupid, mangy mutt that had been tied to a bike rack outside some adult video store. I barely even noticed the goddamn thing until Bryce and I were passing by, but when it began to bark and jump at us I stopped in my tracks. I had not willed my feet to stop, but they froze to the ground like I had walked into wet cement. I couldn't move, and as I whipped my head to stare at the thing I could feel a wave of hot fear rush through me.

The dog continued to bark at me, and suddenly it was three times its size, with glowing eyes and fangs as long as my ring finger, dripping with saliva. A guttural growl rose up from its throat, its lips peeling back even further as it opened its mouth to snap at me.

I lunged back, tripping over something, and fell to my ass on the concrete. As soon as I felt the shock of impact, the Black Dog was reduced to nothing more than a mutt again. But my heart was still crashing around in my ribcage as if the supernatural creature was right in front of me. I tried to get my bearings, my eyes shifting to the left and right, taking in that I was sitting right in the goddamn middle of the sidewalk. Realizing that there was no Black Dog here.

A few passerbys had stopped to stare, and I cursed under my breath as I glanced at the mutt again, wishing it would shut the fuck up.

"Dean?" Bryce was kneeling beside me, concern in his expression. He looked at the dog and then back at me. "You okay?"

I clutched at my shirt, trying to pull it away from my chest, giving me space to breathe. I knew I had to get to my feet, but that damn dog was still barking, and suddenly I could hear the screaming again. She was screaming for help as her body was torn to pieces, attacked by a second Black Dog I hadn't seen, and I was trying to run towards her. I had to get up, but I had been knocked on my ass by the first creature, and it was about to lunge at me. It was going to-

Suddenly I was shoving Bryce away, getting to my feet through some will I somehow possessed. It's not real, I told myself as I walked away from the small crowd that had gathered to watch me freak out. You killed it. You killed both those Black Dogs. You destroyed them for what they did.

I wasn't aware if Bryce was following me or not, but I didn't care. I just wanted to get away from the barking and the screaming. I wanted to prove to myself that everything was okay, that there was no danger here. Black Dogs were rare outside of Europe. There wouldn't be a third. Not here, not now. I was just imagining it. I was just imagining her screams.

But they sounded so real. When I began to run, they still followed me. It was only after I was soaking wet and out of breath, in some neighbourhood I didn't recognize, that the screams finally left me alone. I had stopped to catch my breath in front of a small park, nothing but a swing set and a slide surrounded my a sandbox and a patch of trees. The place was deserted at the moment, on account of the rain, and I decided to rest my body on a bench.

The sound of running footsteps reached my ears, and as they grew closer I looked up the street. Bryce was running full out, the kid's hair a wet mess and his face flushed from exertion. He slowed down when he spotted me, his chest heaving in and out as he walked the last few meters to where I was sitting.

"How the... hell... do you run... like that?" he asked between breaths. Then he was crashing next to me on the bench. "You in... cross country or something?"

"First in the state," I jested.

Bryce didn't laugh. Instead he looked me up and down with that same look of concern I had seen before. "You were running like you'd seen a ghost."

I couldn't help but chuckle at that, though there was no humour in the reaction. I couldn't possibly tell Bryce that I had seen my fair share of ghosts in the past, and that the last thing I did was run from them. "Not exactly a ghost," I said, realizing that the woman – her death – was in many ways haunting me.

"Was it the dog?" Bryce enquired carefully, like he was afraid I was going to take off running again. "Did you have a bad experience with one before? When you were a kid or something?"

I wiped the rain from my eyes, the Black Dog's fangs still clear in my mind and refusing to leave. "Guess you could say that."

"Maybe you have PTSD."

"What?" I looked at him, trying to focus on his face, the red in his eyes, instead of the black, blood-stained muzzle that was threatening to overtake my thoughts again. "What the hell is that? Some kind of STD or something?"

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You've never heard of it?"

I shook my head, annoyed by this discussion. I didn't have a disorder. I was about to tell him as much when her eyes replaced Bryce's, her mouth moving as if begging me to save her, but only blood spilling from her lips.

I looked down, squeezing my eyes shut, willing the image to go away, but she was still there, hovering at the backs of my lids.

"I'll see yah tomorrow, all right?" I said in a tight voice, not looking up.

"Are you sure you're-"

"I'm fine," I bit out, because it was one thing to discover you were weak as fuck, but to expose it to another human being? That didn't sit well with me at all.

Bryce didn't say anything for a moment, but then I heard his quiet voice. "Yeah, see you tomorrow." The bench creaked as his weight was lifted from it, and his footsteps began to grow faint. When I could no longer hear them I finally looked up. Bryce had vanished from sight.

I sat in the rain for a little longer, staring at the trees and the sad, rusting playground, but then I rubbed my face and stood up. It took me awhile to find a street I actually recognized, and even longer to search out a store that sold what I was looking for. I purchased a bottle of whiskey with my fake ID, planning to get good and wasted tonight in the hopes that it would grant me a relatively peaceful sleep again. I'd deal with the hangover in the morning.

I stopped three times on my way home to smoke a cigarette.

9:47 PM

"That's great, Sammy." I twirled the telephone cord around my finger, watching as it unwound on its own and fell to the floor. I was glad to hear the excitement in my brother's voice, and to have discovered it was because he had spent the entire day in the library with our father, doing research for their case. "Hey, can you put dad on the phone?"

There was the sound of ruffling, as if the phone was being passed. Then came John's deep voice. "Hello?"

"So I heard the hunt's going well," I stated. "You and Sam made some headway on where the Succubus could be hiding out?"

"Yeah, we've got some leads."

"I finished that assignment," I lied, mainly because I was avoiding what I really wanted to say. "Worked on it all day today." The truth was, I hadn't even looked at the topic.

"That's good, son," was my father's reply.

There was a small period of silence. I was hesitating. I had to stop hesitating.

"I was wondering... There are no tests or anything for the rest of the week. It wouldn't hurt if I'd miss school. I can take a bus up to meet you and Sam. I can help with the case.

"Your brother and I have it covered."

"Dad, please, I-"

There was a sigh from the other end. "You're not ready, Dean. Not now."

I felt my spirit crumble. I had come to my own conclusions about why my father had refused to let me go on a hunt these last few months, but to have it stated by the man? It felt like shit. "Dad, I know I... I know I messed up. I know it was my fault that-" I couldn't finish the sentence. For the life of me, I could not say those words. Not aloud to my father. Not aloud in this empty motel room. I wanted to curse myself for being so fucking weak. "It won't happen again," I said instead. "I promise you. I can-"

"You can't make that kind of promise, Dean." My father's voice was stern. Almost angry. "The sooner you realize that, the better. You want to hunt again? Then prove to me you're ready. You can start by focusing on your grades. By brushing up on your Latin. By doing any godforsaken thing other than begging me to hunt again."

I opened my mouth to speak, but I didn't know what to say. My father didn't trust me anymore. He felt he could rely on Sam more than he could me, and maybe he was right. I had let him down. I had let that woman down. I had let myself down. I wasn't a good hunter. I couldn't even battle my own nightmares, whether sleeping or awake. I was fucking pathetic.

"Yes, sir," I heard myself say. It was more of an automatic response than anything.

"Me and your brother will be back soon. Shouldn't be more than a few days now."

I didn't know if I said anything in reply, or if my father said anything more. I had checked out of the conversation. The next thing I was aware of was the dial tone, loud and angry. Then I was mechanically hanging up the phone and walking over to the lamp to turn the light off, too numb to think much about my actions. I didn't even bother to undress as the room was plunged into darkness. I simply crawled into bed fully clothed, closing my eyes and willing myself to sleep.

The whiskey bottle I had bought earlier was left untouched on the dresser. I would welcome the nightmares tonight. I would relive that moment over and over again, because I deserved it.

I deserved every fucking moment of it.