Nothing Left

I have to do it. I don’t have a choice. Then again, there never was a choice. It’s irresistible, it’s enchanting, like I was spellbound without a way to stop it. A poison with no antidote. It had become almost like a ritual, every morning, every night. It was cold and smooth, yet burnt the throat and warmed every vein in the body. My troubles would leave my mind, the pain would ease from my limbs, how could you resist such a temptation?

I lay there between my sheets, trying to snatch at the last few seconds of sleep. But my mind had woken, and it was hungry. I barely knew what I was doing as I pulled back the covers and sat up, sliding my bare feet onto the cold floor, and rubbing at my bleary eyes. The room was dim, early morning light seeping through the drapes and creating beams of dust through the room. Of course, there was dust everywhere, but it still felt surreal to see the certain particles lit up, shimmering, swirling. 

I had already forgotten the day before, lucky for me. No happiness to remember also means no pain to remember, not that there was any happiness in the first place. My body moved itself to the door, the cold metal handle sending shivers up my arm, but they barely reached my spine; my mind was so dull these days, the body it was attached to couldn’t even react properly anymore. 

As the door opened, the stale air assailed my lungs. I took a deep breath until my chest felt like the inside of a vacuum cleaner. The remnants of other people’s waste the only thing inside me. I coughed and spluttered at the sensation, grabbing the doorframe to steady myself. The next few minutes disappeared to me, there was nothing there to remember as I set foot back inside the room, carrying a cold bottle in my hand.

I flipped the switch on the wall, but nothing happened. Liquor was expensive these days, and so was electricity, maybe I should’ve considered my financial priorities more closely. I drew the curtain and let the harsh light flood the room. I looked down at my bedside table, another brown bottle stood there, unopened. I couldn’t remember putting it there, but who else would? I shrugged as I took a swig of the alcohol. My body drove itself on autopilot a lot, mostly when I get the drinks, this time was no different.

Beside the bottle stood a picture frame, showing two happy people smiling at the camera, the lady with her arms around the man’s neck. I winced painfully at the memory and turned the photo down, hiding the joyous person I once knew away from what he’d turned into. Of course, Nancy had never stopped being cheerful, always a light of jovial presence. Now I knew, she was the only light I’d had. Now that she was gone, there was nothing I had to be happy about. Nothing to look forward to. Except the alcohol.

I staggered into my office building, grabbing the rusted handrail to calm my racing nerves. Everyone looked up from their computers and paperwork to stare at me, it was a look I’d seen many times before, the same look people gave starving beggars on the side of the road. I don’t blame them. With my scruffy hair, unkempt beard, untucked clothes, and mismatched shoes, I probably did look like a filthy beggar.

As I stumbled gingerly into my office, the mound of paperwork seemed as tall as Everest, staring me down, challenging me to start working. Before I could sit down, my boss entered. He was tall, and had a lean figure. He was kind, but above all else, the rules were his bible. ‘What is it?’ I ask, slurring my words slightly. He sighed, knowing what he will say is going to hurt.

‘Listen, you’ve been valuable to this team for a long time, but ever since–’ He paused, and I looked at the ground, knowing what he means. ‘I’m sorry Tom, I can’t see you like this anymore. And you can’t work when you’re as hungover as you are these days. I’m going to have to let you go.’

I knew there was no point arguing, and my mind was too cloudy to come up with a good reason to stay. I bowed my head and walked out, feeling people’s eyes on my back as I went. As I unlocked my car, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see one of my co-workers, Damian, standing there with a bag in his hand. He raised the bag and smiled, ‘Would you like to come over to my place? I’ve got tea.’

I stayed at Damian’s house for many hours, mostly resting and sipping on tea. After my months of hard drinking, I found the flavour bland and tasteless. Damian came over to sit with me after a while and looked at me cautiously. ‘Tom, this won’t be easy to hear, but you have to stop.’ I rolled my eyes and set the cup down. 

‘You think I don’t know what I’m doing?’

‘No, I know you don’t. Look, I was…’ He trailed off, looking around the room for a second, I realised this must be a painful subject, ‘I was in the same situation a while ago. And you have to trust me, alright?’ My eyes flicked to his drawers, where a tall bottle of something, maybe whisky, stood. It had a handwritten note stuck to the side, with just five words on it. “One step at a time”. Damian noticed my gaze and he smiled, answering my unasked question.

‘It’s symbolic. It reminds me never to open it.’ I stood up and thanked him for the stay. ‘Oh, Tom please! You must let me help you!’ I shook my head and grimaced as my knee pain started to creep back, it was time for my ritual painkiller.

‘It’s too late for me. I’m sorry.’

The drive home was agonising. The liquor bottles back home were screaming at me to drive faster, calling me to grab them and pour them down my throat. My eyes were starting to go fuzzy, not being helped as the sky began to grow dark. The lights in the street became unfocused and hazy, and I gripped the steering wheel to keep myself conscious.

Suddenly, I felt the tires bouncing over the rumbling strips. I jerked the wheel the other way, but I oversteered and started fishtailing violently. I realised I had lost control, and not just of the car. I let go of the wheel, finally accepting it. There was a deafening crunch as the car smashed into a light post. The pole bent inwards, caving towards the car as if reaching to me, reaching into my memories.

The screaming. The crying. The thunderous sound as the truck slammed into the side of the car. Memories I had tried to silence and shut out came rushing back to haunt me once again. Nancy next to me, terrified, and her cry of shock as the impact crushed the vehicle. I’d made it out with a broken finger and some bruising, but Nancy… She was lost in the metal and smoke, a horribly artificial way to end her glorious life. A cruel joke by the universe, made at the expense of her, and me. Sometimes I wished I’d gone with her, but life had wanted a last laugh out of mine.

That night as I tossed and turned in my sleep, the cuts and bruises from the crash sending streaks of pain through my limbs, something snapped. Something came to a crashing halt inside me, just like the barrelling car. I don’t know how I found the resolve; I don’t know where the inception of the thought had come from. But from then I decided: that bottle would never, ever open.

Today, it has been thirteen weeks since I stopped drinking, and I’m now ten weeks sober. I used habitual rehabilitation and turned to journaling instead. I no longer feel the dreadful urge to seek an escape, I no longer wish to be gone either. Every morning and night, instead of reaching into the fridge to pull out liquor, I write myself a note, to remind myself it will be okay, all will be right in the end. Next to the shining photo of those two happy souls sat a notebook, where every night I write, anything, anything at all that comes into my head. It had become my new tradition, my new ritual, something positive, finally.

I now turn up to work on time, and yes, I have a new job. I still go to see Damian every week, and we talk about the good times in our lives, because now, there were good times. Now, my lights turn on, and I have clean running water, and I rarely go to sleep without a smile on my face. I wonder if this was what the universe had planned for me after all, or if I had given myself a second chance at writing my own destiny. Either way, I was happy once again. 

As my eyes fluttered open this morning, and the streams of light still made beams of shimmering dust, there was an unpleasant, somehow familiar smell hanging in the room. I swung my legs out from the sheets and accidently hit the bedside table, knocking the brown bottle off. It smashed loudly on the hardwood floor. Glass shards spun and scattered all over the room. But there was no liquid left inside to follow.