The Path To You

17. Drowning

Connors pov:

Hands. All I felt were hands on my skin, pushing and pulling. I could feel the pressure of a large body weighing me down, forcing me onto the ground. I wanted to scream, cry, do something but all I could do was lay there shaking waiting for the feeling to pass.

I'd woken up from a nightmare, I used to have them every night but when I was drinking until I passed out most nights, dreams never seemed to come. But now when I'd laid down closer to sober than I've been in awhile there was nowhere to hide from the collage of memories.

"Are you going to cry for me Connor?"

I could hear his voice in my head like he was right here in the room with me, like he was on top of me whispering the words in my ear. I couldn't do it. I couldn't keep going like this.

My stomach turned and I knew if I actually had something in it I might have thrown up. I hated that I could still remember his touch. No matter how many hands I tried to replace him with, it was those touches that seemed to be branded into my memory.

Not all days were like this. Sometimes things were okay and then a bad day would hit and I'd barely be able to get out of bed.

Today was a bad day. I felt like I was drowning in it. The memories kept coming, over and over like they were on a torturous loop. Starting with the first time he had touched me and cycled through each painful memory. There was no escape but the bottle. I needed it to breathe, to sleep, to move. Sometimes I really thought I'd die without it. I thought that if I didn't drink until I couldn't feel that I'd do something that I couldn't take back. I'd finally let the darkness win and end it all.

Today was a day I felt like drowning the most.

So it was not even a thought at this point, really it was the one time I stopped thinking and let my body just go on autopilot. I pulled myself from the bed and grabbed the bottle I had stored in the drawer next to my bed. I didn't even have to think as I opened it and tipped it back letting the liquid slide down my throat.

With each sip I was expecting the hands to disappear, my mind to finally go numb. But even when I felt that familiar buzz to finally ignite under my skin I still felt like I was suffocating. The pressure against my body never let up.

This was usually when I'd go out and let myself drown for a little longer. I'd drink until my brain was finally empty and then I'd search out someone to try to replace the hands that were burned into my skin. But I couldn't do that now. I was working on being better even if my version of better was selfish. Trying to be good enough for Jetson was the most selfish thing I'd ever done.

There was nothing I could do to deserve a guy like Nicholas Jetson.

But I'd sure as hell try anyway. That was why I found myself drunk and clicking on his contact an hour later. I was still far away from blacked out but the alcohol wasn't working to dull the anxiety and keep me from falling under the surface.

"Hey." His voice did more to relax me than any of the alcohol in the bottle.

Fuck.

What was I going to do with myself? I needed to stay away but fuck I was too deep already.

"Can you come over?" I questioned.

"Is everything alright?" I heard the panic in his voice and the sound of shuffling on his end. It was obvious he was on his way over.

"I'm okay, just want to see you."

"On my way."

I tried to let myself relax at that. I'd see him and once he was in front of me then maybe this feeling would finally go away.