Engulfed

Chapter 13

I ran through my own rules that I'd neglected to follow as I laid awake in my bed that night:

Step One: Drink
Check.

Step Two: Make mistakes
Sure. Check.

Step Three: Pretend you don't remember
Oh yes. Check.

Step Four: Drink a little more...

I sat up, looking at the clock. It's two in the morning. Pete and Meagan are across the hall in their bedroom, probably being busy. Bronx and Saint are fast asleep. They won't care anyways.

With a probable growing regret blossoming in my chest, I threw the covers off and tip-toed out of the room. Stealthily, I crept into the kitchen and stood with the fridge doors open.

With eyes like laser pointers, I desperately rummaged for some kind of drink, anything that will tie me over. Nothing.

I hit my forehead. Stupid. Pete would never just leave anything up here in the fridge where a little Wentz could get to it. With a little less stealth, I raced downstairs into the basement.

For one, Pete's house never really looked like a house. It always looked like a club or a rental that you'd only get to party in once or twice. The basement was three times the size of the biggest basement I've ever seen. There were couches spread out evenly around a flatscreen and a bar across the opposite side.

I almost tripped over myself, making a break for it. I'm still drunk as a skunk, but I need this.

I pull out drinks left and right from cabinets and the mini-fridge. Nothing is recognizable other than the typical beer labels.

Shot glasses and wine glasses by the dozens were stored behind glass cabinets. I cleaned half of one out.

There was no way I was going to use all of these, I rethought as I looked at all of them. The counter was completely filled. I couldn't fit one more thing, even if I tried.

My rules call for "a little more". I'm not the person to drink a ton after of it earlier.

Or would I?

I did. Empty and half empty shot glasses were left on the table and I was still pouring more. It was addicting and terrible. After every drink, I felt a sickening feeling - a sort of soup consisting of disgust, shame, and regret.

I'm definitely drunk, drunk as hell, but I still feel conscious of the decisions I'm making. I know what's going on and I don't like it.

I leaned back in a stool and sighed, lying down on my arms. The light flicked on and I spun around too quickly. All of the liquids in my stomach splashed around, creating the worst feeling.

"Patrick?" Pete squinted in the light to see me. He wore gray boxers and an old, faded black t-shirt, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

I hiccuped and stared back at him helplessly.

He sighed and started walking over, "Don't do this dude... You're not like this. Tell me this is just a nightmare so I can go back to bed..."

He came around the counter and looked at all of the glasses. I couldn't describe to you, the hurt on his face and the growing one on mine.

Pete's hand went to his forehead and he shook it, letting it fall to the corners of his eyes. He pinched them and I think I saw tears building up in his eyes.

"Come on, back to bed..." he put a hand on my back and started leading me out of the room.

"Wait- one more," I asked. I don't know why. I don't want one more. I didn't want any in the first place. Something inside me was begging for more.

He chuckled, but went straight into an angry shout, "Hell no you're not. You're going straight upstairs and I might just have to lock you in next time."

Just as we were climbing up the first step, I broke free. Pete spun around and went to grab me back.

He didn't know, I wasn't headed for the bar. I was going for the toilet.

I ran straight in, not having enough time to close the door before it all came through.

Pete stopped in the doorway, I heard the door close behind him and he approached me. He laid a hand on my back again, rubbing it up and down.

"It's okay Patrick... Let it out. It's better now than later. Get it all out."

I fell back on my butt and wiped my lips. The taste of acid and old drink was still recognizable. I half wondered if it would be permanent.

It was then that I started crying. I looked to Pete and let everything fly right out of me.

"I didn't want to... I-I didn't mean to..." I admitted. My head started spinning again, but I'm sure it was the drink this time. It was more of a drunken state then an "ow my head" feel.

He nodded and wrapped his arms around me like I was Saint. His presence was comforting. It reminded me of the hospital. I was so helpless at the hospital. We were both so afraid. It's no different than now.

"I need help..." I whisper with tears still flowing from my eyes.

He shook his head, leaning back to look at me, "It's your first time in a while. It hasn't been a reoccurring thing and I'll make sure it won't be. Don't worry. I'll help you."

I closed my eyes and let my head fall to his shoulder. He messed with my hair on the back of my head.

I pulled away to go right back to the toilet again and hurl. Pete was still there at my side.

After I was almost sure I'd vomited every last thing in my body, Pete carried my limp body up the stairs. My hand fell and I hardly had the strength to pull it back up.

Pete laid me down in my bed and covered me back up. He sat next to me asking, "Do you want me to stay?"

I nodded and scooted over for him. He climbed right in and faced me.

Looking away, I smiled temporarily. I still felt like I could break into tears at any second.

"I need to run dry," I said out loud, "one more shot, then I'm quitting forever. Cross my heart..."

He nodded and even smiled a little, "Don't let me catch you crossing your fingers."

I held out my hands, revealing none of them crossed. He took them and rubbed them together against his own. He was much warmer than I was.

He sighed, "I'm already feeling the hangover headache from tonight. You need a lot of sleep Pattycakes. You're gonna be me in a few hours."

I agreed and let my head sink back into the pillow. Pete winked and whispered, "Goodnight" and closed his eyes.

"Night..." I whispered back. I will never forget step five.

~ Becca