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I don't drink.
Or at least I don't like to. I hate the headache I have the morning after, I hate that once you pee you have to pee a million times afterwards, I hate the smell of alcohol on my breath and the burning flames that slide down my throat. I hate how it made my parents act and I hate how it seems to taint everything it touches. I hate how people drive so recklessly under the influence of it. I hate how innocent people die because of it.
Nevertheless, I raised the bottle to my lips. The whiskey tasted like gasoline and peroxide and cough medicine. I swallowed it regardless. The city lights reflected off the bottle from the balcony I sat at. They created a kaleidoscope effect against the cool metal railing as they bounced off the glass. They hurt my eyes, but I kept them open. The bustling activity even late at night was in full swing in Seoul, but the sounds were faded and muffled in my ears. Everything seemed that way lately. Faded and muffled, every thought and sight and sound and taste and feeling a dull shade of gray, a nonspecific in-between.
I guess that's better, though. The uncertainty and blankness. The pounding headache and vomiting that would come tomorrow morning. The liquid fire torching my esophagus with each swig. The corrupted body, mind, and soul. All of that is worth not being able to feel the real pain. A pain worse than the fiery sting that bit at me, worse than the headache that would plague me tomorrow, worse than the fire coming back up the way it came as a doused, disgusting smelling concoction in the toilet.
A pain that hurts so bad I feel hollow. Empty. A concave in my chest that makes me feel like my skin is just an exoskeleton containing flesh and blood and ligaments and muscle and bones that serve no purpose, that have no meaning. My body that was once bursting with life was resorted to this. My muscles that were once used to leap and turn and kick. Bones that were sturdy and steady enough to keep me from plummeting to the ground. Blood that was free of alcohol. Ligaments that tightened and loosened with the purpose of me doing something, rather than just sitting aimlessly and drinking my life away. Flesh that was once touched.
Touched by him.
My heart contracted. The pain seeped through, like wind through clothes. Through whatever layers one had on and down to the bone, down to the very core. I made a noise. I don't know what it was. I couldn't hear it. It wasn't drowned out by the traffic down in the streets, but rather the deafening roaring in my ears. Him. His touch. His smile.
I took another drink.
hi make sure you pay attention to the chapter names they signify time skips eeeeeeeee
