Inferno

thirty four | the fate of us pt.2

"Thanks," he nods, himself unsure of where and whether to begin. "I've told you when I was in Spain for college, it was a wild ride. I'd done some stupid things and some of it might have been me being 19, but a lot of it was me being intoxicated. My dorm was the resident capital of drunkards throughout the university and I was unabashedly proud of it. Of course because I was so wasted most of the tenure, thinking and repenting was out of question and it just slid down from there. My friends were there till they could, but they had their own lives to look at too, so me alone with an emotionally unstable family, no one by my side and with a wad of cash, found home in cheap bars. I can't even count how many times I'd escaped a comatose stare because of my abrasive behaviour after drinking and one day I even touched the edge. My Dad found me with broken ribs in a hospital, and as much as I loved to rebel against him I had to accept I needed help. Now this is generally where I'd get a slap on face and get my life together, and to some extent I did, until I escaped rehab. After more than six months of therapy, I was tired of it and I was convinced I'm all repaired, so I lied to my Dad that I'm done with it and boarded the next flight I could, to Amsterdam. Where we met."

It takes some time for it to register completely and even then it doesn't. "You had broken out of rehabilitation?" He nods, the embarrassment of it flicking in his eyes. "But I saw you drinking. So many times."

"It had been a long time and I believed a drink or two wouldn't send me down a hole. And it didn't, because when we started spending time together and I learned you have an issue with it, gradually two glasses came down to one, one to half and... I wanted to not lose you so bad, by the end of that trip I went cold turkey."

"And you couldn't handle it?"

"Funny, but that's the issue, that I could. If it meant being with you, it meant I'd had to flush that urge out of my system and when I did, you.. you left. The idea that I battled my addiction for someone who by all means doesn't want to do anything with me anymore, it screwed with me so bad I can't explain. I was embarrassed, angry at myself and everyday since that day, I was this close to sloshing down the next shitty item they lay in front of me in a glass, but I didn't and that's when the withdrawal hit and killed me almost."

Killed him. Suppressing the need of the fibers in my body to break down right away, I urge him to continue. "But I somehow survived that too. I came clean to my father, went back to rehab and completed what I left in the hopes that I'd come out feeling better. And while I did, better still wasn't good. That's when I met you again. Seeing you, I was so overwhelmed I didn't realise when I made it a point to be the best version of myself for you and dig out that feeling of having achieved something, that was missing.

I was determined to be a new Chase who I didn't even have a clear picture of, and in trying and trying, it only got worse with every fight we had. And yesterday I couldn't take it anymore, feeling confused and exhausted when I saw you slipping away maybe and for a split second I wanted to give up. I wore myself out so much figuring what I need to be for us, I realised I have left myself nothing to give to this relationship anymore."

"Yeah," I mumble, sliding my arms away into my Jean jacket as if that'd hide the shivers.

"When I woke up today, I was ashamed, anguished, and a lot of things. But most of it, I was utterly clueless. I... I might have survived the addiction and the aftermath, but floating with simply my head above is just not enough. I'm still very messed in my mind, and I need to take care of that, figure myself out for who I really am, before I can be something for someone else. I need time to  be better and this time around because I want it for myself, not because there's a point to prove."

"So... so you're—I'm sorry, I am a little whelmed," I clutch onto the legs of the chair, letting his words sink in and make sense when all I hear is 'it's over' pounding in my ears over all that's been said. Collecting myself and wiping at the stingy corners of my eyes, I faze myself to look at him. "I can't say I get what you mean, but... if that's what you want, then that's all that matters. I–I, yeah, I don't know what else to say. Take care, remember me maybe."