"The things that desire can make foolish people do."

The pot of coffee bubbled loudly as Molly waited for it to finish. When it finally beeped, she reached into the cupboard above her to get mugs, and her hand brushed against something else. She peeked past the ceramic mugs and spied a large paper bag tucked in the corner. She grabbed it and pulled it out, frowning at the clinking of glass and swishing of liquid. Inside, were at least six bottles of Jameson Irish whiskey.

"You did not," Molly said to herself. She scoffed and set the bag on the table. She poured them, one by one, down the sink.

"What are you doing?" Jim appeared, just as Molly pulled the cork from the last bottle. He stood in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His mouth fell open when he noticed the empty bottles by the sink. "No, stop!" He jumped forward and pushed Molly to the side, wrenching the half-empty bottle from her hands. "What do you think you're doing?" He clutched the bottle to his chest, his eyes wide and wild.

"What do you think? You can't keep these here!"

Jim's mouth fell open and he held the bottle tighter. "You don't understand."

"Don't I?" She quickly swiped the bottle from his grasp and emptied it into the sink, holding him back with her arm and watching his face contort as the amber whiskey slipped away.

"Molly stop! You can't-" He reached around her, groping for the bottle. He grabbed her arm, overwhelming her with his strength, but it was too late. With a furious snarl, Jim slammed his fist against the countertop and stormed from the room. Molly took a deep breath and allowed herself a small smile before following him, a cup of hot, black coffee in her hands.

"How long have you been drinking like this, Jim?"

Jim groaned and rolled onto his back. He had collapsed on the couch and refused the coffee Molly had offered.

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

"Why?"

"Jim."

"Am I in trouble?" Jim raised and eyebrow and tried to smile, but it quickly faltered. His shirt was drenched with sweat.

"Yes."

"Don't you have a child to take care of?"

"Yeah, and he's convinced himself that he is above my help." Molly folded her arms. Jim smirked and dropped his head onto the pillow. His face had lost most of its color.

"A while," he finally said. "A couple years."

"How much?"

"I don't know!" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "Half a dozen bottles a week!"

Molly dropped her head into her hands. "You are so stupid."

"Aw, thank you," Jim sneered. He pressed his palms to his forehead, straining his muscles to keep them from shaking. Molly had never seen Jim so weak. All the time she had known him, he had kept himself in constant good form, never showing a crack in his armor; Strong, but hiding weakness. Molly watched him writhe beneath the blanket for a moment. He pulled the covers over his head, shoved his face into a pillow, and screamed.

"What's wrong with him?" Poppy leaned over the kitchen table to peer at Jim's limp form sprawled across the couch. Molly rolled her eyes.

"He's being a drama queen."

"Oh," Poppy nodded, feigning understanding. She held out her hand to Molly, patiently watching her mother paint her tiny fingernails her favorite shade of green. Molly looked over her shoulder at Jim and frowned. She new enough about alcohol withdrawals to be beyond simply worried. This is going to be hard.

Jim ripped the blanket from his burning skin and hurled it at the wall. She'll kill me with kindness, he thought. Every muscle and sinew in his body ached. Sleep evaded him, each time he closed his eyes his thoughts overwhelmed him. Now, he couldn't avoid them. He had nothing with which to drown them out.

In the corner of his eye, a shadow drifted across the room, passing effortlessly through the furniture. Jim squeezed his eyes shut until they ached. Leave me alone. Another shadow immerged from the wall. You're not real. Even in the darkness of Molly's small house, the shadows burned into Jim's mind. One, tall and slender, leaned towards his face.

"Leave me alone," Jim growled. The shadow remained, unaffected. Its head tilted as if deep in thought. "Get out!" Jim shouted and lunged forward, passing through the shadow and toppling from the couch. He lay on the floor for a moment, his hands pressed against his face. His shoulders trembled. You are pathetic. Don't be stupid. Jim peered through the gap between his fingers and sighed with relief. Thank god.

A shadow plummeted from the ceiling, arms outstretched, and fell towards him. Jim threw his arms over his head, hearing his scream, but not feeling it tear from his throat.

There were hands around his wrists, pulling them down to his sides. He opened his eyes and the shadows vanished. The heat of Molly's eyes spread across his body. His breathing slowed, leaving his hands and arms trembling in her grip.

"Are you alright?" Molly folded his hands in his lap and pressed her cool hand over his cheek. "Jim? What's wrong?"

Jim shook his head. "Nothing."

Molly frowned. Her concern was written all over her face. Molly had always been an open book. She turned her slim body and seated herself next to him, leaning her back against the sofa. She said nothing. Jim thanked her silently. After a moment, Jim reached for Molly's hand and held it. He saw her smile out of the corner of his eye. Jim took a long, shaky breath, and leaned his head against Molly's shoulder. No words passed between them. Jim let a tear slide past his eyelid, blessing the darkness for hiding it from Molly.