To Be, Or Not To Be|| SPY X FAMILY

Damian||My Drunkenness and the Seer Lady

I was being very, highly unproductive. In fact, so unproductive that I concluded that it was all out of intellectual curiosity. Was I trying to make some kind of predicament observation? Maybe, maybe not.

I wasn't really worried, just suspecting that I was perhaps burnt out, I'd go to the kitchen's basement storage every night and steal one or two bottles of wine, which I'd down so quickly that it'd burn my throat with how strong the liquor felt through peristaltic movement's down to my stomach.

This became my daily ritual for the next three consecutive nights and then further. A week had passed as I was drawing myself in the rich, velvety flavours of the dark and comforting liquor. I could almost feel it pulse through my veins and each time I became a deluded drunk, all I could envision was Anya Forger.

Everywhere, Anya Forger, it was ridiculous enough to say that I'd become one of those delusional romantics like Becky Blackbell. It felt indubitably sad and I felt piteous of my drunken state, as though I was mourning the loss of some dead relative.

And then it hit me that I'd been in love with her for years.

I mean, It'd hit me a long time ago that some part of me yearned to hold her close, to pull her by the skirt of her uniform and into my arms. Sometimes, I'd begun to use my own hands and touch my cheeks or graze my lips, pretending it was her and I didn't realise what had suddenly fueled my intense desire to love Anya Forger the way a junkie loves his drugs.

Bad comparison, I know.

At first, the subtle hints of sudden headaches and hangovers and alcoholic breath wasn't very prevalent to everyone (not that I cared) but soon after, Killian began to notice and although, he was appointed to me as my assistant, in fact, I was the one who'd hired him, he told the rest of the staff, the head maid and even Jeeves, our family's butler who now knew that I'd been stealing liquor.

For a while, everyone kept their mouths shut, which was a good thing because being ignorant of my piteous state was better than having to go see another psychiatrist. Ah...a psychiatrist... that's what...Forger's pop's job was... I thought faintly, lying aimlessly on

the plush couch set near the fireplace in my room.

I think word spread around because I had an unexpected visit from my mother, who had been acting suspiciously pleasant ever since I obliged to her request to see me in the Central Garden.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Jeeves reluctantly led me to the living room which was connected to my office chambers. I practically slumped onto the sofa, face to face with my teary-eyed mother who was so worried that she stood up with a jolt the moment I groaned because I'd hit my knee on the table.

"Damian!" She cried.

"What on earth has been going on?! Jeeves told me...he told me you've been...taking liquor and...drinking heavily," she seemed worried but at the sound of the tone of her voice, I figured she was finding it awkward addressing her now adult son as if he was some stupid child who'd gotten his clothes all muddy.

"Don't worry mother, I'm as sober as one can be," I forced a curt smile, ignoring the damp feeling of sweat trickling around my hair. It wasn't hot, I mean, outside, it was pleasant but I'd been sitting with thick flannel and silk bed covers over my head earlier, hence the sweat.

"Damian what has been going on?" My mother said, almost a whisper, she looked at me pleadingly, desperate to know why I was the way I was.

"If this was because I asked you to get married then-"
"I'm fine." I nodded "And no, I'm fine with getting-"
"That's what you always say!" mother sighed in frustration, her voice growing louder,
"Why do you care?!" I snapped and to my satisfaction at the time, she shut up.