[First Draft] Unresolved (New Chapters Daily)

Part Eighteen

As I walk into my bedroom, I let my jacket slip from my shoulders and fall to the floor, barely noticing the soft thud as it lands. The weight of everything presses down on me, my body moving sluggishly as I sit on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. It's like my brain has short-circuited, and all I can do is exist in this moment of numbness. Everything hurts, but not in the way it should. The tears that used to flow so easily are dried up now, leaving me hollow, a shell of whatever I was before. The exhaustion settles deep into my bones, but I can't sleep. I won't sleep. I don't even deserve it.

With a sigh, I allow myself to collapse back onto the bed. The mattress feels harder than usual, or maybe it's just me, too far gone to find comfort anywhere. Any shred of confidence, of optimism I once had about the future, is gone. Lost. All I want is to disappear into the bed, to sink so deep that I forget who I am, what I've done, or even what it feels like to be alive.

The faint glow of the rising sun creeps through the blinds, signaling the start of another day. Another day I'm not ready for. I glance at the clock and realise how badly I've wrecked my body clock. Hours blend together, and the days feel endless. I don't even know the last time I had a decent night's sleep. Not that I deserve one.

Slowly, I sit up, feeling the weight of guilt settle in my chest like a boulder. My thoughts drift to the one thing I know will numb this pain, at least for a while. The only thing left that might make this all a little more bearable. I push myself off the bed and make my way to the kitchen. My feet drag across the floor as if the simple act of walking is too much effort.

The cupboard is already open by the time I get there. I don't even remember pulling the door, but there it is. The bottle. My emergency bottle, my last resort for days like this. For nights when the darkness is too much to handle. The "just in case" vodka. It stares back at me, like an old friend I wish I didn't need anymore.

I pull it out and place it on the counter, the weight of the bottle familiar in my hands. Do I even have a mixer? I glance into the fridge, hopeful for a second, but it's bare. Typical. I check the other cupboards, the ones I usually keep stocked with at least something, but there's nothing. It doesn't matter. Tonight, I don't need a mixer. Tonight, I need to forget.

I take the bottle and head to the sofa, collapsing into it with a sigh. The exhaustion hits me again, but I ignore it. The cap rolls away easily as I flick it off, and I bring the bottle to my lips, taking a long, burning swig. I don't even flinch. The sharp sting of the vodka is nothing compared to the ache already inside my chest. It goes down smoother than I expect, and I take another sip, faster this time. Anything to drown out the mess in my head.

It's a futile attempt to quiet the noise, but it's all I have right now.

I lift my head and let the burn seep into my stomach, spreading a dull heat that almost makes me gag. I want to feel that sensation, to anchor myself in it, but it slips through my grasp like everything else. Nausea bubbles up, but the numbness buries it, swallowing it whole. What the fuck am I doing? My hands shake as I take another swig, the liquid scorching my throat, forcing a gasp that scrapes against the silence. For a moment, the burn masks the shallow rise and fall of my breath, grounding me in something that feels like life. Then it fades, leaving me staring down the shadowed hallway toward the kitchen.

Robin would be at work today, just like always. And Kasey... Kasey would be there too. Shit. The thought of her coils tight in my chest, bringing back a sharp, bitter taste that the alcohol can't wash away. She knows about us—about me and Robin. But would she actually say anything? A laugh almost escapes me, hollow and humorless. Do I even care at this point? Whatever secrets she thinks she holds are worthless now; there's nothing left to expose. Not anymore. Robin and I, we're a mess of broken pieces that don't fit together, scattered across nights and fights that bleed into each other.