TW: This chapter contains alcohol use and abuse. If you don't like it, please, don't read.
He's dead.
My sweet sweet innocent child is dead.
And no, he didn't have a month, he died after two weeks. He died in the hospital at midnight in my arms. But at least he died without pain, or at least that's what the doctor said.
But still, it hurt me more than I could ever imagine. God took him away from me way too early.
And that moment, when the machines stopped beeping, when he was cold, I ran out. Just like that. I ran out of the hospital, leaving Wilmer, my family and others behind because I couldn't take it. No, I needed to escape.
And so here I am – in a cold backstreet, with my back against the cold wall, with a bottle of vodka in my hand, tears on my face, hair messed up. I have been hiding here for a quite long time, I think, although I'm not sure because I have drunk too much.
As a good mother, I should be in his funeral, and not sitting in a cold street. I should be there for him for that last time, to kiss him goodbye, but life has failed me again so damn much, so I decided to get high and have fun or at least drown my sadness and pain.
But bottle after bottle and my pain is still there. It's breaking my heart into million pieces, and even though I can't think clearly anymore, the sadness is still here, and it's killing me.
If I could, I would rip my heart out of my chest, so it wouldn't hurt that much.
But damn, I can't.
I need to stop dreaming and attend my son's funeral.
So with deep inhale, holding a wall with my shaky hands, I manage to stand up from the cold ground and thankfully my weak legs don't fail me this time. I take a small step, stumble a little but then take another one because I need to rush, I can't be late for my child's funeral.
It takes a while and all my strength but I finally find the cemetery. But surprisingly, there are no people around. And it's kinda a good thing because until everyone arrives, I can finish my bottle of vodka. So I sit down on the grass and drink straight from the bottle.
But minutes pass by, and it's getting darker and darker and even though I shouldn't be thinking anymore, alcohol should've made me forget, I'm still here and my mind is killing me. Because it's not the life that failed me, I failed my child, my husband and my whole family. It's happening because of me. I fucked up again.
I want to drink again but then there are steps which make me stop and I quickly put the bottle behind me, looking up. I find Wilmer, my dear Wilmer, standing in front of me, with his eyes red from crying, or he's high as well. He's dressed all black and good God I would love to say he looks hot but my child is dead, so I better keep my dirty thoughts to myself.
"Where have you been?" Suddenly he starts shouting, taking me by surprise, and I have to close my eyes because his voice is too loud, or perhaps I'm too drunk, I don't really know, I don't really care.
"I drank," I say and pull the bottle from behind me. Lifting it up, I show it to him and he angrily grabs it from my hands, throws it on the ground and it breaks with a sharp sound. There are million shares now and I'm moving away from him because he's angry, and angry never means good, and even though I'm completely drunk, I still know when I need to take a step back and this is one of those times.
"You stupid bitch," He growls and then his palm meets my cheek and I'm laying on the grass. "You missed our son's funeral, you..." He lifts his hands up in the air in desperation but then leans over, grabs me by my hand and lifts me before starting to drag me somewhere.
