"Every man has secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad" - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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A Thomastair fan fiction
DISCLAIMER: I do not own a...
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Alastair had never understood why his father would drown his sorrows in alcohol every single day and night. Even when Alastair had been dragged down to the lowest and deepest depths of his depression, he hadn't once thought to drown it out with rum or scotch. To wash away the pain temporarily and let the enchantment of intoxication seep into his bones and skin. That was until recently.
It had been three weeks since the engagement party and each day Alastair fell deeper and deeper into the abyss of seclusion. His thoughts would never turn off, a constant reminder of how pathetic he was. He would wander the London streets at night when the stars flickered among the deep sky and slept his days away locked up in his room, hiding from everyone and everything, only leaving when he was needed for patrol in the evenings. He hadn't even contacted Charles since their last encounter, he never found the motivation to speak with him. Alastair had been pulled into a depressive hole many times before, but this time was different, he could see no light at the end of the tunnel.
He became an expert of sneaking his food into the trash when his mother wasn't looking so he wouldn't have to choke down his meals. He lived off coffee and sometimes a piece of toast if he was feeling up to it. His body became achingly thin, he wasn't sure how he successfully participated in patrol without just crumpling into a heap of bones and skin. He avoided Cordelia at all costs, and he knew she could tell something was wrong but every time she brought it up, he would snap at her and leave the room. She had finally given up a week prior and let him sulk in his own isolation.
Alastair was strolling the city streets, breathing in the smoky air and gazing down at the wet pavement. It was dark out and the sky was speckled with brightly lit stars. The moon illuminated the sky and sent reflections off the puddles of grease and rainwater. The streets were relatively empty only housing some homeless people who were huddled under blankets near fires in attempt to not freeze. Alastair stopped in the middle of an alleyway and gazed down both sides to see if anyone else was nearby. When no one appeared, he neared one of the brick walls that rose on either side of him and sighed, slouching his aching body against the cold stone. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a large bottle of spiced rum and started to untwist the cap. He had picked it up the other day after patrolling but never got around to drinking it. He never wanted to put Cordelia in the situation that he had been put in when he was younger of constantly taking care of his drunken father. His father had ruined his childhood and the idea of Cordelia having to go through something like that nauseated him. He recalled the times that his father had collapsed in the library, soaked in vomit with empty bottles of liquor scattered around him, passed out from intoxication to the point that no iratze could heal him. Alastair shook the memory from his head. The need to feel something other than the constant loneliness that had surrounded him these last few weeks overpowered any worry of hurting Cordelia. He didn't care if he was being selfish anymore, he was doomed anyway. He needed to shut off his mind, to shut off the thoughts that felt as if someone was constantly yelling directly into his ear. His body felt hollowed and empty and if he could fill that space with alcohol, he would.
