forgiveness (book one)

forgiveness

x.

forgiveness

I took a long walk the day after. It was a crisply bitter morning, and the temperature of the air bit at the apples of my cheeks as soon as I stepped out the front door. It was the first morning in a very long time that I had awoken without a pounding headache; I had been too consumed by what the old man had told me that I hadn't found the time to drink last night. My mind felt anything but clear, of course, but it was better than feeling as though my skull was about to split open from the ache.

A mud-brown, suede backpack dragged heavily against my shoulder blades. It was weighed down by its contents - which contained several bottles of beer and a half-empty handle of Jack Daniel's whiskey. These were the last bottles of alcohol that I owned. The leather straps of the backpack dug into my shoulders, making my legs feel sluggish and heavy.

I tried not to think too much as I walked. Yesterday I had done more than my fair share of thinking, and I was beginning to wonder if my head would start to ache just from the constant stream of thoughts, even without the alcohol. I slowly made my way across town, alone, with nothing but a backpack laden down by mistakes.

Gradually the buildings and shops around me began to thin. I crossed the length of an empty park, passing by mini playing fields and swings that creaked in the breeze. At the edge of the park, I stepped over the low wooden fence one leg at a time. I could see my destination just beyond the cusp of a scattered line of pine trees - an eroded cliff-side of bluffs that overlooked a tiny corner of the Atlantic Ocean.

The scent of pine sap filled my nostrils, mixing with the cool, salted air, and I breathed in deeply. Fallen, brittle needles crinkled beneath the worn soles of my Nikes, and the ground gently sloped downwards as the earth rushed to meet the cliff's edge. The trees quickly cleared as I reached the bluffs, the crisp wind whipping back strands of my hair as soon as I escaped the barrier of tree trunks.

I could hear the waves, a low and steady hum beneath me. Over the edge of the cliffs, there was a smattering of weathered boulders that the waves broke against. The ocean's water was calm, and yet the foaming barrels of sea matter remained powerful as they crashed against the base of the cliff, sending up sprays of water in arcs through the air. It was nearly a fifty foot drop to the rocky lining below. I felt an anxious dip in the pit of my gut when I leaned over the cliff's edge to examine the bottom.

My shoulders ached with relief when I allowed the backpack's straps to slide off, the bag dropping to the ground beside me with a clink and rustle of pine needles. I stood for a moment, my back free of the alcohol's weight, as I looked out across the misted horizon of the ocean. The salted air filled my chest, cooling the inner lining of my lungs and calming the heated beat of my heart. I listened to the sound of waves breaking beneath me, a rhythmic note that eased my mind into a blank state.

I hadn't felt this calm in well over two years.

The first beer bottle was cold to the touch, my palm stinging from the frosty glass as I withdrew it from the depths of my backpack. I straightened with the beer held tightly in one hand, taking a careful step closer to the cliff's edge. The amber liquid bubbled and frothed inside the translucent green bottle.

Ana's hair had been bleached to a whitish blonde in our sophomore year of high school. She had worn the new color boldly, her head held high as several students turned to get a second look across the crowded hallways. I had been walking to chemistry, the thick textbook tucked under one arm, and I had nearly dropped it when I saw her.