Delirium

Chapter 13

Dallas struggled to fall asleep that night, memories from his childhood assaulting him. Memories he had shoved to the back of his mind crept to the surface. His eyelids flew open as his heart hammered in his chest. The memory of his emotionally abusive father flashed through his mind. His harsh words tore his soul apart. Dallas pushed himself up from the bed and tapped his iPhone, 3:23 am. He wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

He picked up an opened whiskey and took a sip. Here he was getting drunk at three in the morning. He propped himself against the island, looked outside the window, and into the night. His throat burned as the liquid flowed down. His mom's sad eyes bugged him. He had never seen her so desperate in his life. Dallas hated to admit he did love his mother. Because even if it was only for a short time, she did what she could for Griffin and him.

"Dallas, what are you doing at 3:30 in the morning?" Griff asked groggily.

"Nothing." He said as Griffin shone his phone light toward him.

"You're drinking this early?" He said with a disappointed tone.

"Yeah, and?" Dallas scoffed.

"Dal, you have a problem."

"I don't care, Griffin." He said, taking his final sip.

"Well, you better care or you'll end up like our dad and stepdad." Griff stated.

"Do not call him our dad again."

His brother's hazel eyes went wide at Dallas's sudden devil-like tone.

"He never was a father to us Griff. . . and you know it. He left when you were born." He stated.

Griffin brushed off the comment, "What is going on with you, does it have something to do with mom?"

Dallas's jaw ached from him grinding his teeth together, "Yes."

"Talk to me Dallas. I'm your brother, I care about you." He said sincerely.

He breathed a reluctant sigh, "Just remembering our awful childhood."

Griff nodded, "I know it's more than that Dallas."

He shook his head, "I don't want to talk about it, Griff. You know most of it."

"Not all of it, Dallas. Some of it I was too young to remember."

"I will shove it deep down, as I always do." Dallas said as he grabbed another bottle from the fridge, "Goodnight brother."

The next morning, Dallas woke up with a raging headache. His vision blurred as he looked at the clock beside him, 9:12 am. He groaned, turning back over. He didn't want to get up. His body begged for him to stay in bed. He checked his phone to see what his schedule looked like. He didn't have anything to do until five that afternoon. Dallas sat the phone down and drifted off into a deep slumber.

He woke to Mikey peering down with concerned brown eyes, "I heard you drank last night."

He grumbled, shoving his face into his pillow, "So?"

"You're acting like a teenager."

"Stop being so loud." Dallas said.
"I'm not and it's also past lunch."

"I feel like shit." He mumbled.

"I bet you do. You drank your life away again." Mikey said with disappointment.

Dallas sat up squinting, "Only because I remembered my childhood."

"Why don't you go to therapy?" He suggested.

"I'd rather die."

"Suit yourself," Mikey said, walking away.