Glass Half Empty

I flex my hand. The amber liquid calls out to me, taunting me. The more I try to ignore it the more the unrelenting voice in the back of my head whispers — just one sip. Shadows seep through to the bottle. I tear my eyes away, blowing out a breath through clenched teeth. 

“I don’t need it,” I whisper, grabbing the bottle. Unscrewing the lid I hold it over the sink, watching as it swirls down the drain. The familiar scent calls out to me, begging me to stop. To take just one more sip. I watch the liquid vanish as the bottle grows warm in my hand.

“I don’t need it.” I barely manage to repeat, the words feeling like sandpaper on my tongue. 

I make my way out of the house and carry on with my day. 

I feel their eyes on me, watching me. Waiting for me to fall apart. It’s so quiet at the table you could hear a pin drop. My fingers roll the rubber band on my wrist. Another set of eyes watches intently. Wickedly waiting for me to break. Snap. 

“How have you been? How's work?” The question barely gets through the buzzing in my head.

I fidget in my seat,shifting restlessly. Unable to get comfortable on the chair. Unable to feel comfortable in my own skin. “It’s been fine, nothing out of the ordinary.” Snap. 

“We were thinking of taking a trip. We’d love for you to come.” There’s hesitation in his voice. I don’t blame him. Not after the last trip. A flash of screaming and broken bottles comes to mind. Snap. 

A smile is plastered on my face, forced, practiced. A cold chill runs down my back. “Of course. Just tell me the time and place and I’ll be there.” 

My foot bounces incessantly against the hardwood floor syncing with the pounding in my head. Cold sweat prickles my skin. I can’t sit still. Can’t think straight. Can’t stay present. I smile when expected, nod at the right moments. I wonder if they can see through the fake smiles. Wonder if they can see through to the turmoil going inside my head. Snap. 

I’m broken out of my reverie when the waiter comes to take our order. “What are you drinking?”

I flex my hand. I must take a second too long to answer, he’s looking at me expectantly. “Water.” I croak out. My friends offer what I assume they think is an encouraging smile. I offer one back. However, I don’t think the smile quite reaches my eyes. We continue as if nothing is wrong. Either they don’t notice my fidgeting, or they simply avoid mentioning it. Maybe the facade is convincing enough to ignore the truth. 

The conversation carries on. I pay little attention. The words blur with the ringing in my ears. It feels like I’m outside of myself, watching from a distance. 

I blink. The glass in front of plays tricks on my eyes. The ice has melted. The once clear glass is now darker. The scent curling up to my nose. My heart hammers in my chest. One blink later and the glass clears. My reflection is staring back at me.

The dinner ends with a pat on the shoulder and a few sideways glances. The conversation leaves much to be desired. All I can remember is the sound of blood rushing through my head. Anything of substance was left out. Either due to fear of what might throw me over the edge or maybe it's just that my friends don’t know how to talk to me anymore. Don’t know how to get through to me. Don’t know how to ease the shakiness in my hands or quiet my thoughts. 

My walk home is quiet. I’m barely aware as my feet lead the way. Leading me down a path I know all too well. A path committed to memory. Money passes hands and I grasp my purchase, the chill of it numbing my fingers as I make the rest of the walk home. Behind me I feel the shadows growing darker. 

My fingers drum against the table, as I stare at the bottle in front of me. A bead of sweat runs down my forehead. I don’t know whether it’s from the burning desire inside me or the crackling embers from the fireplace. I can feel the shadows creeping from the man in front of me. I don’t lift my gaze. I don’t need to. I know who it is. 

“Just for today,” the voice whispers. 

My throat tightens. It’s not my voice. 

Slowly, I lift my gaze. The chair is empty. 

Hazy images flash through my mind. A sharp exhale leaves my lips. The room suddenly feels too cold.

Screaming. 

Laughing. 

Crying. 

Shattered glass glittering like ice.The sound of honking, frantic, desperate. The smell of smoke and gasoline. A voice, raw with panic begging me to stop. Sirens slice through the ringing in my ears. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. My other hand wrapped around the neck of a bottle. Next to me, once vibrant eyes stare, empty. Snap.

My breath gets caught in my throat as the rubber band falls to the floor. 

I flex my hand. Blowing out a breath I grip the edge of the table. Trying and failing to steady myself. The amber liquid gleams under the dim light, enticing me. My parched throat begging for relief. My body aches. Remembering the momentary relief. Don’t do it. The thought barely forms before another voice — calm, familiar, persuasive — whispers: Just for today. 

“I don’t need it.” My voice breaks. My fingers twitch. 

Slowly I reach for the bottle, hesitantly twisting the cap off. The smell hits me first unburying memories I didn’t know I had, my senses now on high alert. I close my eyes as I bring it toward my lips. The liquid sears down my throat. I welcome the burning sensation like an old friend. I yearn for it. It’s familiar, almost comforting. I crave it. The shakiness in my hands ceases with the first sip. The second dulls the ringing in my ears. By the fifth, my mind has quieted to a murmur, the world slowing down. The hole in my chest is a little more numb. Loneliness weighs on me a little less as I find comfort in my most recent purchase. A relentless friend that I can’t seem to lose. One of the only constants I know. Any semblance of control now nowhere to be found.

I stumble towards the couch as my eyelids grow heavy with each passing second. The fire is barely simmering now, reduced to embers and ash. I drift off and the bottle slips out of my hand. 

Morning light seeps through the window. The fire is out, leaving behind only cold embers. The house feels empty, foreign. I run a hand through my hair, exhaling shakily. A groan escapes my lips as I press my head between my palms. 

One step. I grab the bottle. 

A few more. I reach the sink.

Amber liquid swirls down the drain. Defeat shines in my eyes as it disappears. 

“I don’t need it.” A deafening sigh following the too familiar words. 

The air thickens, and a cold presence behind me whispers mockingly, “Of course you don’t.” 

I find only my own reflection in the window. 

I discard the bottle in the trash. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a small chip. My thumb traces its edges, the weight heavier than it should be. My grip tightens, then loosens. The chip falls clinking against the bottle.

The words stare back at me. 

One month.