STURNIOLO TRIPLETS-one shots

Alcoholic- Chris

Idk this idea just came to me soo

⚠️Pls pls pls don't read if this is triggering for u Ik this can be a very sensitive topic and if I've represented it wrong pls lmk and I'll take it down⚠️

Love uuu
Summary: Chris turns to alcohol to silence his problems, and at some point his brothers will find out.

TW: excessive alcohol drinking, throwing up, swearing, alcoholism

                                      *

      " Hey, where you going Chris?" Matt calls from the couch, his eyes buried in his phone still.
Shit. I had been trying to leave without being noticed, but I hadn't seen Matt there. " Uh- to a party." I stutter, pulling open the front door. It's not the whole truth, but it's the best I can do right now. My hands are already shaky, a penetrating headache between my ears. I need to get out of here.
" Again?" Matt sits up, twisting to eye me over the back of the couch. He looks confused, with a hint of- oh shit- worry.
No. No no no. If he got worried he'd get suspicious, and if he got suspicious the game was up.
" Yeah." I glare at him, making eye contact. " Are you jealous that I actually have friends and can function in social situations?" It's a low blow, I know, but the desperation floods through my veins like blood. Without it I will shrivel up and cease to exist.
It, of course being alcohol.
Any kind, really. Beer. Straight vodka. Wine ( although that could get expensive). Anything that will give me a buzz then push a little more to take the edge off. Being hammered is my safe space these days.
Matt bit his lip, eyes sliding away from mine. I've hit a nerve. A pang of guilt hits my heart, but the need is more intense. Too intense.
" Need to interrogate me more?" I snap, already halfway outside, the cool air caressing my cheek. It was usually my only companion in the early hours of the morning, and I greet it like an old friend.
" No. Whatever." Matt mumbles, slipping back down so that I can only see the top of his head.
Thank god.

*
By the time I get there, everyone is already drunk, loud yelling reverberating around the kitchen and living room. I nod at a couple people I recognize, but the only reason I ever really come to these is so that people won't question my drinking.  I make a beeline to the drinks table, accepting a glass of whatever from someone who holds it out. Not the safest, sure, but being drugged probably wouldn't be too different from being drunk. And anything that silences the logical part of my brain that thinks too much is fine by me.
An hour later I'm tipsy.
Two and I can't see straight, laughing with people I've never met, all inhibitions gone.
Three and I've definitely reached my limit. All these weeks of drinking in excess has certainly extended my tolerance, and I guess I could be classified as a heavyweight now. Honestly, being able to drink less and get super drunk was so much better than this. Now in order to catch that floaty, out-of-this-world euphoric feeling, I have to drink to my stomach's limit.
"-Chrissss." A voice resounds in my ears, a hand clapping my shoulder harshly. I stumble, grabbing a wavering wall to stop myself from falling face-first onto the ground. The tiny voice of consciousness holding on in my head sighs in relief of not having to explain a broken nose to my brothers.
" Mmm?" I slur, hastily gripping the arm of the person talking to me. Their face swims into view, a man with a scar in one eyebrow and shaggy blond hair. " You good?"
I nod, his words not really processing. If I open my mouth, I might very well puke everywhere.
And that would make me sober, which is a big nope.
" Want me to help you home?" The guy asks. He seems to know me, but my addled brain can't seem to place him. " Or do you wanna crash at mine?"
" Yours." I manage, pulling my mouth into what feels like a smile. But it can't be too late, right? I've only been here for a little bit.
The guy cocks his head at me. Had I spoken out loud? Were these words slipping past my lips against my control?
" It's four in the morning, Chris. Jeez, how much have you had?"
How much what? What is he asking? How much self hate? How much pain? How much I've drunk to forget those things?
" Lotsss." I garble, answering all of the possible questions.
He sighs and I black out.

*

                   A couple weeks later

I slide my door shut, lean against it, and breathe a sigh of relief. This routine soothes me, the promise of my shaky nerves and too-loud head disappearing. It's late-ish, nearly eleven. Matt and Nick are already in bed because we have to get up early to fly back to Boston, but even that can't get in the way of my addiction. I've already found a liquor store around the corner from our parent's house, where I can escape and buy my sanity in the form of amber liquid.
Speaking of which, I pad across my room silently, slipping a hand under my bed and feeling around for the bottle of vodka. When I pull it out it's half empty, which can't be right. That's more than I thought I had last night. But under the lull of peace, maybe my perception had been off.
I pull off the cap, smelling the undertones of freedom. My mouth is already around the bottle as I lay on my back on my bed, pulling out my phone to scroll on tiktok. I barely even grimace as it slides down my throat anymore, the hand sanitizer-like taste almost second nature.
After a while I go for another sip, realizing with a start that the bottle is empty. I blink in confusion as the world spins. My body feels floaty and nice, except for a slight ache in my stomach. Which meant that I haven't drank enough yet. If I can feel it's not good enough.
I reach under my bed and grasp for the six pack of beer. Only three are left, but I gulp them all down in a couple minutes.
The world is really shaking now, mixing all the liquid in my stomach together. It doesn't feel good.
Before I know what's happening I lean over the side of my bed and throw up a bit. Not enough to get rid of all the alcohol. I groan. Then freeze.
A shuffle of footsteps in the hallway makes its way from my ears to my brain slowly.
Shit. Shit.
The realization hits me, and I just have enough time to stash the bottle and cans far under my bed before my bedroom door flies open, revealing my disheveled-looking brothers. They gape at me, lying on my back with vomit on my face and the floor, taking in the pungent stench. I hope to god that they don't recognize what the smell is.
" What the fuck? Chris?" Nick asks, rushing to my side.
" What the hell?" Matt gasps in unison, stepping to avoid the puke and brushing my hair from my forehead. " Are you sick?"
My scrambled mind searches for what to say. Nothing comes.
I laugh instead, trying to focus on their faces. They seem fuzzy and far away, almost comically so. I can make out their confused expressions, but not much else.
" Chris?" Their voices sound far away and for a moment I wonder if I'm underwater.
" Christopher Sturniolo?"
" Sweetie, what's wrong?" Faintly I can feel tears trickling down my face. When did they get there? How?
" What. The. Fuck." Nick ( at least I think it's Nick) says, and it sounds louder than anything else, but warbly and statically. " Is this what this is about?"
He holds up an item that I can't quite identify. It's clear with something blue on-
Fuck.
Nick holds the empty bottle closer to my face and I simultaneously wince and throw up all over myself.
Then, blissfully, the world darkens and all the sounds muffle to silence.

                                           *

Dun dun duhhh

Pt 2 coming soon probably

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