Paper Hearts [Brallon-ish]

152 days

[its never too late to start adding pictures to the chapters, is it?]

-

Whiskey.

His eyes were the color of whiskey.

I'd realized it 66 days after I'd met him, I should've noticed it earlier considering the first time I'd seen him his eyes were the part that got me hooked in and wouldn't let me go.

Of course, the color of his eyes was coincidentally the shade of the alcohol he chugged daily. And that was not a happy sight that I saw way too often.

"Didja hear about the fox that got its head stuck in the front gate this morning?" Pete groaned from his lawn chair, still half asleep. He'd pulled an all nighter to finish an essay for zoology only to find out it wasn't due until Tuesday, which meant he still had 2 days to do it. He threw a pillow across the room in frustration when he found out, almost knocking the single glass decoration we owned to the floor.

"Nah." I told him and he sighed, still too tired to process anything. He seemed to perk up when footsteps down the hall shook the room, and the door swung open to reveal Brendon in a stained tank top and ripped high school gym shorts. He held a huge recycling bag and the scent of alcohol practically dripped from his lips.

"Surprise inspection day," he huffed, out of breath "it's my turn."

I guess the surprise inspection wasn't so much of a surprise any longer.

"What's the big deal? The inspector is like your best friend, they'd never rat you out." Pete mumbled and raised his forearms so they covered his eyes from the sun peeking through the tiny window next to us.

"H-he got replaced." Brendon cried with his chest heaving, and kept glancing frantically back down the hall "please, I need help there's too many and I can't carry them all and-"

Pete stood up abruptly and I sank deeper into my seat. The weight of the situation hadn't hit me yet, but I was being pulled to my feet and down into Brendon's room against my will.

"Please don't be mad, just help me get rid of them." He sniffed, piling empty bottles into his arms and dropping them into his recycling bag.

I wish the color of his eyes wasn't whiskey brown, because I'd seen enough of that hue just by looking through the door. Empty glasses balanced on top of one another filled the entire corner of Brendon's room, enough to create a couple dozen 6 packs of alcohol. Some of them looked like they hadn't been touched in a while, but most appeared to have been opened pretty recently. Pete ran a hand down his face and crouched down to the floor, unsure how to react. I wasn't sure either; I wanted so badly to have him caught and be pushed into breaking the drinking habit for good, but I knew he wouldn't be able to stop no matter how much he wanted to. Because 56 heartbreaks don't leave the heartbroken one completely sane.

Eventually, we'd packed the last couple bottles into the recycling bag, and carefully placed it into the bins out behind the building where the garbage guys would take it away, hopefully never to be seen again. We hadn't received an answer as to how he required all of those when alcohol wasn't even allowed on campus and how he kept them all hidden even after we had checked every inch of his rooms for any left behind.

Brendon was sprawled out across his couch, face down into the arm rest furthest from the window, while Pete and I both played Go Fish at the kitchen table.

"Got any 9's?" He asked with a hopeful grin for the 3rd time in a row.

"Go fish."

"Son of a bitch."