Some People Do

7: Vice

SOOKIE

I wake up with a splitting headache. The taste in my mouth is a familiar one, but one I shouldn't be tasting. Not after all the hard work and what I've accomplished. I force myself out of bed and go to the bathroom to pee. After that I brush my teeth. Artis appears in the doorway and her brown eyes look up at me with concern.

"Yeah, I fucked up, kid," I tell her. This headache can only mean one thing.

Wine. Lots of it. Red wine, specifically. Something about the tannins in it. Always gives me a horrible headache.

I shower because even though I know it won't make me feel any cleaner emotionally, it'll at least get my body feeling a little better. Once I'm clean and dressed, I towel dry my hair and brush my teeth again. I can't seem to get that awful hangover taste out of my mouth.

Finally, I leash up the dog. Sunglasses hide my eyes. I grab my phone and shoot Kennedy a text to tell her that I had a bad night. I follow it up with a photo of two empty bottles that once held decent Merlot. Wine wasn't my drug of choice back when I was drinking, but it's generally the easiest thing to get my hands on.

My phone rings as I'm walking out of the apartment, holding Artis' leash.

"Hello," I say to my sponsor.

"What happened?" Kennedy asks.

"I saw Eric last night after the meeting. I told him how it all got started. We ended up getting in a fight," I explain.

"I suppose the wine wasn't his idea?"

"No. He has no idea. I did that on my own after I left him."

"Is it a one-time thing?"

"Yes."

"Go to a meeting," she says. "This isn't the end of the world, Sookie. It happens all the time."

But to me, it is the end of the world. We get to the elevator and I have to take a few deep breaths to keep from having a breakdown. I'm disappointed in myself. I'm angry. More than two years of progress derailed in a single night. What the fuck was I thinking? I know better than that! That's what really makes me angry. Drinking doesn't solve anything. I know it, and yet I did it anyway.

Part of me wants to send pictures to Eric and blame him, but that's not fair. He didn't put those bottles in my hands. Even if he had, he didn't force me to drain them. My choices, my consequences.

"Sookie? Are you there?"

"I'll find a meeting," I promise her.

"Good. Call your therapist if you need to. Get an emergency session," she advises. "If you need to talk more later, call me."

"I will." She's right about me calling my therapist. That's exactly what I should do. "Thanks, Kennedy."

"You're welcome. Drink plenty of water to flush your system."

I nod while she gives me other advice. Artis seems to know that something isn't right with me. We walk aimlessly once I've hung up. My phone is in my pocket, along with my keys and wallet. I stop at Daily Grind for coffee. Maybe some black special dark roast will clear the fog from my brain. While I wait for the coffee, I place a call to my therapist. She's got a session available that afternoon and I take it.

I lose track of how far we've gone and what direction we're facing. Then I notice that we're outside of Eric's business. I stop and lift my sunglasses. When I look through the window I realize that he's sitting at the front counter. Artis begins to bark, causing Eric to lift his eyes from the computer he's looking at. Normally, I'd probably go in. Today I don't think I'm welcome.