Whispers Of The Heart

Chapter 23 - Depths Of Despair

GEORGE'S POV:
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I glance at my ringing phone and see that it's Wilbur calling. Exhausted and lacking the energy to engage in conversation, I briefly consider ignoring the call. However, a pang of realization hits me, knowing that this might be the last time we talk. With a heavy heart, I gather the strength I have left and answer the call.

"Hello," I mumble, my dry throat aching from the lack of hydration.

"George, how are you?" Wilbur asks, his voice filled with concern.

"Good, I guess," I reply, my voice lacking confidence. We both know that I'm not really doing well.

"I left the keys under the plant on the left side of the front door. I'm about to board the plane," he says, and I furrow my brows, confused as to why he's sharing this information with me.

"Yeah?"

"Did you forget?" he asks.

"Forget what?"

"You said you'll water the plants for me while I'm visiting my parents."

"Oh, right."

"If you're not feeling like it, I can call Tom and he'll do it. It's fine, George. I don't want to put too much burden on you."

"No, it's fine. I'll take care of it," I reassure him, feeling motivated to finally step out of the house.

"Okay, thank you. If you need anything, call me. I'm here for you, always, George," he says, and before I can respond, he adds, "I love you."

"I love you too. Thanks, Will. Have fun with your parents," I say, my voice trembling with emotions as tears gather in my eyes. It's a mixture of sadness and relief that paints a fragile smile on my face. I haven't truly smiled since Clay left, but now I find a glimmer of relief in the decision I've made to move on from this world.

"Thank you. Bye!" he says, smiling.

"Goodbye!" I reply, forcing a cheerful tone in my response. Deep down, I know that this might be our last conversation, and the weight of that realization bears heavily on my heart. But for now, I act as if everything is fine, trying to mask the pain and darkness that lingers within me.

As I peer through the blinds, I notice that it's already dark outside. I slowly navigate towards the kitchen and find myself opening a drawer with bottles of alcohol. It's a drawer that I never thought I would have, but circumstances have changed since then.

I take a bottle of nearly untouched Malibu from the drawer. Removing the cap, I take a small sip, feeling the familiar warmth as it glides down my throat. Settling down on the couch, I hold the bottle in my hand and begin playing music on the TV to fill the empty space around me.

As the sad melodies fill the room, I feel the burning sensation of the alcohol in my throat, intensifying the dizziness that consumes me. Chugging the remaining contents of the Malibu bottle, I struggle to maintain my balance as I make my way to the alcohol drawer. With unsteady hands, I take out a partially untouched bottle of vodka, seeking ease in its numbing embrace.

With a wobbly speed, I stumble back to the comfort of the couch, collapsing onto its soft surface. The room seems to dance around me, the world spinning. I lay there, my body sinking into the cushions, as the tunes continue to play, soothing me into a cloudy state of mind.

After a while and a few more sips of Vodka, I collect the motivation to put on my shoes and jacket. Stepping outside, the brisk air brushes against my face. I inhale deeply, feeling the coolness fill my lungs, and for a moment, it helps clear my mind.

For a better experience, listen to this song: Only - RY X

With the bottle tightly gripped in my hand, I begin walking aimlessly. I don't have a specific destination in mind, but anywhere is better than my house where I've been falling apart. I walk with a sense of purpose, hoping that each step takes me closer to a place of comfort and escape from my own thoughts.

I walk through the park with the vodka bottle in my hand. There are still a few people around, but I don't pay much attention to them. With each gulp, the drunkenness deepens, and the alcohol swirls within me.

I finish drinking the vodka and throw the bottle in a nearby trash bin. I find myself on the street where Wilbur lives and I remember that I can take care of his plants. With a drunken smile, I make my way to his front door, knowing that going back home tonight is not going to happen.

I search for Wilbur's keys, my intoxicated mind struggling to remember where he mentioned they were. After a bit of searching, I finally find them under the plant as he had said. With the keys in hand, I unlock his front door and stumble inside.

I stumble into the kitchen, my vision blurry and my steps unsteady. I search the cabinets and drawers, desperately seeking another bottle of alcohol. I want to drown my sorrows, hoping that the numbness will wash away the pain. However, with each sip I take memories of Clay flood my mind, refusing to be forgotten.

I don't want to be in this world if it's not with him. It's just too hard.

I sink to the kitchen floor, tears streaming down my face. The weight of loneliness and heartache crushes me. The thought of a life without him feels unbearable, like an endless abyss of pain. I feel lost and broken, unable to see a way forward. The idea of leaving this world becomes more tempting with each passing moment, a desperate begging for relief from the overwhelming sadness.

I stumble through the kitchen, my movements unsteady and my mind clouded by the effects of the alcohol. I manage to find the bottle of whiskey and take a few sips, desperately seeking relief. With a heavy heart, I place the bottle back in its original spot, attempting to hide any evidence of my drinking from Wilbur. I don't want him to worry, even though deep down I know I'm losing control.

An irresponsible thought crosses my intoxicated mind. Wilbur owns two cars - one he used to go to the airport, and the other is parked here. In my drunken haze, the idea of taking the car seems like a brilliant plan. My chaotic decision convinces me that this impulsive act will bring some form of escape or relief from the pain I'm feeling.

I make my way to the hallway where the keys are hung. My vision is blurry, but I manage to find the car keys. With a mix of determination and drunkenness, I make my way to the driveway and slide into the driver's seat of the car.

I smile to myself, convinced that my plan is genius. I explain to myself that driving around for a bit will help clear my head, and then I'll just return the car without anyone ever knowing.

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