The Lonely Hearts Club

Chapter 24: Liquor Store (Hades)

I'm alive.

Unfortunately.

Despite the excessive speeding, I make it back to my complex safely.

But guilt has me all fucked up.

I know I'm an asshole, alright?

Bree talked about some of her past trauma, sharing vulnerable parts of herself and I abandoned her.

I've had three weeks to remedy the situation, and I've done nothing.

Instead of trying to fix it, I fuck some random bitch whose name I have a problem remembering.

I just...I don't know what to do.

There's a liquor store a few blocks away from my place.

I walk.

Hopefully, someone decides they want to fight me tonight.

I want to fight someone.

Surprisingly, everyone seems to be on their best behavior.

A few kids are spray painting a building and peals of laughter and shouts fill the air.

Reminds me of when I was a kid, always sneaking out because I didn't want to be at home.

Guilt stabs my heart again.

There are so many times when I should have been home.

I stuff my hands in my jacket pocket and frown.

There's something in it.

I pull out a little pink lighter, Heather's lighter.

I put it back in my pocket.

Don't know when she put it in there, but I'm going to keep it.

It may be useful later.

Benny's Liquor Store is the only place open in a strip of buildings.

I don't like drinking, it can make me too...unpredictable.

No one ever questions me when I don't drink either.

They put it down to me being a security guard and having an obsession with being alert at all times.

I guess that's part of the reason.

The liquor store has bars on the windows and the open sign is flickering.

The man behind the counter shrinks back when he sees me.

I trail down the aisles and grab a bottle of whiskey.

Well, I smash the lock off the cabinet with a random crowbar I find on the ground, then grab the whiskey.

The worker gasps.

Why the fuck would anyone leave weapons on the ground?

Whatever, at least I got what I need.

I need something that's going to burn, and this whiskey is going to do that.

"You—you don't have...have to pay sir!"
The man squeaks when I get to the counter, the crowbar tucked under my arm.

He's young, with glasses and pimples over his face, probably too young to be working here.

"Take the fucking money." I snap, slamming a cash bundle on the counter.

"Oh—okay." He nods. "Thank you very, very much—"

I stalk out into the night, sniffing and wincing when I lift the bottle to my lips.