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nights of drinking, oh how I love them

Aleks liked to drink.
Well, no, scratch that. He had to drink. Because when your life is falling apart, and nothing seems real anymore, you need something to make you feel grounded. Aleks needed that something, something that would tie him down to the earth and hold him there, ensuring that he wouldn't fly away. That something happened to be a bottle of any alcohol he could find and a possible cigarette if he really needed it.

Sometimes, on those really bad days, Aleks couldn't even feel anything. Everything felt like he was underwater, his actions muddled and slow, surely meaning he was dreaming. Was he dreaming? He would often pinch himself harshly, making sure he felt it to reassure himself that he was, in fact, awake.

The guys took notice, often asking Aleks if he was alright, and if there was anything wrong.

"You can tell us man, we're your friends."

But were they really? Because the shadows casted by darkness whispered in his ear during the night, claiming all that they said was false. He believed them, though he didn't want to. He didn't want to believe them, and he also didn't want to open another bottle of whiskey to drain all those unwanted thoughts. But he did both those things. He did a lot of things he didn't want to do.

///

Sometimes, when the days were so bad, that Aleks couldn't even hear himself speak without it being muddled and fuzzy, he would get out a bottle, walk over to James' office, and open it. Both would take turns sipping from the bottle of beer, none of them talking, but both still conversing in an unspoken way. It was easier like this, with no words needed to talk. Hard, but at the same time easier.

"I-I just want to stop," Aleks croaked one night, taking a large gulp of the bottle before passing it back to James.
"Stop what?" James asked, opening another bottle and taking a small sip, handing it back to Aleks when he reached out for it.
"Stop-" another big sip, his throat bobbing as the bitter liquid traveled down to his stomach. "Stop living. And don't give me any bullshit about how I'm drunk. Because I may be drunk but I'm speaking my mind. My truly, twisted, fucked up mind," Aleks spoke with a hoarse voice. He chugged the bottle, looking at James with sad eyes.
James said nothing. He just opened another bottle.

///

It wasn't long before James started to worry about his Russian friend. Those words on that one night had stuck with him, no matter how many times he'd tried to shake them off. They re-entered his mind during the times he was with Aleks, always trying to coax him into asking him what was wrong. It wasn't until Aleks came into his office one late night, a bottle of vodka enclosed in his shaking hand, did he speak up.

"What did you mean?" James asked, eyeing the bottle as Aleks took the bottle opener he had stolen from Jordan out of his pocket.

"What? What do you mean 'what did I mean'?" Aleks asked, taking a swig from the bottle and hissing as the burning sensation over took his throat.

"I mean, what did you mean last time? When you said you wanted to die?" James asked, taking the bottle from Aleks. Aleks glared at him, but he realized he want getting what he wanted back, so he sat back with a smile.

"First, let me ask you this, James Wilson. Do you, as one of my closest friends, really want to know what I meant?" Aleks asked, a look of amusement spread across his face. James nodded.

"Yes, I do."

Aleks chuckled, kicking his legs up on the desk and sitting back, his gaze towards the ceiling.

"Well sit back, because I have a story to tell..."

~~~~~
THIS CAME TO ME AND IDK WHAT THIS IS, JUST RANDOM THOUGHTS THROWN TOGETHER TO FORM THIS MESS

Hope you like it...
~Lena