I was laid off from work recently. Their platitudes about "being regretful" and "downsizing" were bullshit to my ears. They'd had it out for me the moment I started working at that damned office.
I hold the half-full bottle to my lips as I swallow down the burning feeling of temporary amnesia. After the last drop of the magic liquid had entered my mouth, I dropped the bottle as though its existence had meant nothing to me. The clinging sound of it hitting the other glass bottles sounded almost like a sob of betrayal from the bottle for letting it believe it ever held someplace in my heart and mind.
One...
Two...
Seven...
I lost count of how many I'd had after the first five. Each bottle brought on a new wave of serenity and calm that seemed to last only temporarily and had me reaching, almost subconsciously, for the next bottle when the feeling began to fade even in the slightest.
The announcers talking followed by the classic laugh track that poured through the terrible quality speakers of my old glitching television had become a muddled mess mixed with the noises of traffic from outside and the sounds of the couple in the apartment above mine who were either always in heat or always loathed each other. I never cared enough to ask them about their late-night activities which were usually the cause of my loss of sleep throughout the night.
I hazily checked my surroundings before reaching for the closest object I could find and expelling the little food that had been in my stomach that day. After a few minutes of dry retching and gagging my body decided to finally give me a break, I opened my eyes to see what the newest victim of my recent addiction was, and after my eyesight had cleared I saw that it was just one of my throw pillows.
The set of pillows had been a housewarming gift from Davina. Beloved. That's what her name meant, and it was the perfect name for someone of her influence and reputation. There was not a single person who wasn't instantly charmed by her bright smile, glittering eyes, and positively glowing personality. How I had managed to be friends with someone as outgoing and brilliant as her still eludes me to this day, and if I'm being honest I never really know what she saw in me.
That was before the accident though.
Accident isn't the best word to describe what happened to her. An undeserved and unjustified horrid crime is a better way to describe it. That man had no right to do what he did to her, he had no right to even think about her in the ways he did. Someone so sweet and innocent, their fate having fallen into the hands of someone as greedy and appalling as him.
It always made me roll my eyes and cringe when someone said, "Earth has lost someone special, and Heaven has gained another angel." But there is no other way to describe what happened when the world lost someone as bright as Davina. The day she died even the Earth itself seemed to weep at the loss of her radiance.
Never again would I see the playful smile that seemed permanently embedded on her face, feel the slight bit of air that smelled of pine and roses when she flipped her long gleaming red hair over her shoulder, hear the light and airy but snort filled laughter whenever something around her gave her an immense amount of amusement, the way she playfully waved her fingers when she gave a greeting or the way she expressed herself by moving her eyes in playful ways. But most of all I would never feel those thin arms wrap around my torso in a comforting manner and her calming whispers of consoling words.
I look at the black designer throw pillow, now ruined by my terrible choices. Tears begin to fill my eyes as I instinctively reach for another bottle of temporary bliss, only to grab at the empty cold air.
My heart rate picks up in a state of panic as I frantically feel for the familiar feeling of the cool smooth glass under my trembling fingertips. My erratic movements are met with nothing but my loss of balance as I tumble off my couch, hitting my thigh upon the corner of my wooden coffee table. The sudden force causes the collection of empty bottles on it to rattle and then fall like dominoes. The repetitive sound of glass shattering echoes through my head like a tidal wave until finally, the last bottle seems to balance on the edge, slightly wobbling before joining its companions in pieces on the floor.
Without fully processing what my body is doing I reach my hand out only to feel the sharp pain of hundreds of small shards of glass pierce and embed themselves into the palm of my hand. My breathing picks up as the pain shoots up my arm and I desperately grasp at the wrist of my injured hand.
After struggling and using the coffee table to stand up I am overwhelmed entirely with my cries of agony as my feet step into the remains of my old friends. My whole world seems to tilt as the effects of the alcohol kick in and I fall to the ground, hearing my head hit the ground with a sound that seems to reverberate through my entire body before my eyes close and everything fades.
