Tom was now being forced to swallow a bitter pill by his old friend. Sobriety
If the house had looked bad before there are no descriptive words strong enough to describe the state of disrepair his home had fallen into following around eight hours of searching every nook and cranny looking for alcohol. The 'problem' was that he had drunk every last drop in his house, and had no money to buy more.
He had then to lying on the cold wooden floor in the centre of his living room, surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of beer bottles for around an hour now, trying to think of some way to gain access to more of his poison of choice.
He vaguely remembered a conversation with Zoe where she washed her hands of him, deciding that a drunken slob was not worth her time. He snorted at the memory. Zoe's feelings weren't his problem.
What was worse was that image of Sam was now as clear and bright as it had ever been in his mind. Her smile, the way she walked, the way she spoke to him, everything about who she was swirling around his brain. Tom pulled himself into a seating position, ignoring the dizziness he felt. He needed alcohol, now.
He grabbed his coat and flew out of his house as fast as his weakened body and mind would allow, tearing down the road with only one destination in mind. A corner shop he knew that was a couple of streets away, always open and always stocked with as much alcohol as the shelves and the fridges could take. It was also the only place he could think of that would be open at half past six in the morning.
When he entered he was immediately made aware of the fact that he wasn't the only customer, for there were several burly teenagers standing around in the sweet isle. The owner of the shop recognised Tom, for he had often stopped by her after work before the explosion to buy some beer and a quick snack or ready meal, and waved him over.
"Tom! Good to see you, mate! It's been over a year!" He said cheerily.
"Hey John," Tom replied to the bearded man behind the counter, "Good to see you."
"I heard about everything that went down at the hospital, like everyone else did, your faces were all over the front page of the local papers for months!" He said, peering into Tom's eyes with concern.
"Yeah. It's been a rough year. Thankfully it's all over now." Tom replied, managing a small but hollow smile.
"I'm… I'm was sorry to hear about what happened to that bird of yours. Sam was her name, right?" He said sadly, giving Tom a sympathetic look.
"Thanks." Tim said, clearing his throat and shuffling around uncomfortably.
"Look mate, I'll tell you one thing, it gets easier as time goes on.." John began, starting a very long anecdote about how he had lost his wife a couple of years ago
Tom tuned him out, nodding along to what he was saying without really listening. An icy trickle had just run down his neck. What on earth was he doing in a corner shop when he didn't have any money?
"… so anyway. What were you looking to buy?" He asked after finishing his long and depressing tale.
"All the beer you've got." Tom replied, maintaining his composure.
"But.. That's about fifty bottles! What are you planning on doing with all of those?" John exclaimed.
"I'm having a little get together to remember Sam." Tom lied, half hating himself for how easy that was.
"Oh I see. Just wait right there, I'll got put them all in a crate to make them easier to get home…" John said as he disappeared through a door that led to the back of the shop.
Tom had to think fast. He had to find a way to get the beer out of the shop without paying. Could he grab it and make a break for it? Not likely with those teenagers there. Could he ask John to put it on his tab? Probably, but small local shopkeepers even keep tabs? Tom doubted it. What could he do?
"Ok, fifty three bottles." John said as he heaved them up onto the counter.
"Great, thanks." Tom replied, grabbing the crate by the makeshift handle Tom had made with some kind of dark blue strap.
"That'll be £55.20… Hey! You three! Stop right there!"
Suddenly the three teenagers that were in the sweet isle made a grab at some of the more expensive wine on the top shelf, along with some magazines and packets of crisps. John ran out from behind the counter and tore off after them straight out of the shop and down the street.
Tom didn't think twice before grabbing the crate and making his own hasty exist, running in the opposite direction to John and the kids and straight into the park. He stopped once he was a good way into the park and hidden from view behind a large tree.
Without wasting another second he quickly tore the cap off of the first bottle and drank the contents as quickly as he could, enjoying the relaxing sensation that begun to spread through his body once more.
He sat on the ground and rested his back up against the tree, breathing gently and enjoying the taste of his second beer, his third and fourth following quickly. As he drank a tinge of guilt in his stomach couldn't be quashed.
He was useless drunk stuck in a rut, that he knew already, but now he was a criminal too?
What on earth would he resort to next?
…