This isn't weird.

Eighteen Days

A growing number of consecutive days sober had left Ben feeling better, mentally and physically, than he had in months. It had been just over two weeks since his last drink, and his body was grateful for it. His migraines were less frequent without the constant presence of alcohol in his system, and while he still probably wasn't sleeping enough, he was quickly finding that four or five hours of natural sleep were infinitely more restorative than ten hours passed out drunk.

It wasn't quite so hard to look in the mirror anymore. He had gotten himself cleaned up, cut his hair, shaved his face. Everyday his reflection looked less and less like a sickly stranger.

Job hunting had finally become a priority, and while he'd yet to come across any listings that seemed particularly promising, it felt good to at least dust off and update his resume as a first step.

His room was clean again; he had filled three garbage bags with the beer cans and miscellaneous trash that had piled up, all the while cringing with shame to remember how close he had come to actually bedding Millie amidst all that filth and squalor. In the end, he was honestly glad she had shoved him off. He never wanted to do anything with her that she would regret. Now the floor was spotless and vacuumed. The piles of dirty clothing had been laundered and neatly put away. The bedding was fresh—he had thrown out the sheets that he felt were completely defiled by Cassie's presence on them, though he had to resist an urge to burn them outright.

Ugh, Cassie. He did feel horribly guilty for how he had treated her—as unlikeable as he found her, nobody deserved that. More than once he had considered sending her an apology, but he knew reopening any amount of contact with her would cause more harm than good to all parties involved. The Tavern, he had already accepted, was lost to him.

After spending months hiding away in his disgusting room, Ben now made it a point to leave the apartment at least once a day. Mostly it was just trips to the grocery store—buying and cooking actual food again was quite the novelty, it almost made him feel like a person again—but there were plenty of neglected errands to catch up on, as well a general need to exercise his body. He was taking long walks again, usually early in the morning. They were more meditative now, tending toward the city's nature trails, rather than the manic, angsty sidewalk wandering he had been prone to at the beginning of his spiral.

He bumped into Tess once when he was walking around Willamette Park. She was doing cooldown stretches in the grass, and he probably wouldn't have noticed her at all, if she hadn't abruptly shouted some profanity at a passing jogger who she deemed to have looked at her for too long. He turned his head to investigate the commotion, and they spotted each other at the same time. Despite the large amount of time she was spending with his roommate, Tess had somehow managed to avoid him like the plague; it was jarring to finally see her again.
"Hi, Tess," he said, holding his hand up in an awkward little wave and trying to smile.

She looked at him with a level of contempt that made the early days of their acquaintanceship look downright friendly. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Nothing!" he replied quickly. "I'm just walking by."

"Are you following me?" she accused.

"On foot?" he asked incredulously. "What, do you think I got bionic legs since the last time you saw me run?"

The corner of Tess's mouth twitched just enough for him to see that he had almost made her laugh, but that just made her double down on her scowl. "Fine. Whatever." She put her earbud back in and resumed her stretches, clearly indicating that she was done with the interaction, but Ben hesitated there.

"Hey, um, Tess—"

"What?" she snapped.

He flinched. "Is Millie doing okay?"