Oblivion

26

He ran and ran until his legs would no longer carry him. He found himself in front of a an open shop. The only thing he could think of was getting a drink and nothing and no one was going to stop him this time. The look on the mans face as he paid for three bottles of vodka was of sheer terror. His tshirt was splattered with blood, his knuckles torn and blue with bruises.

'Are you ok?' He asked. Dan slammed down £50 and walked off without his change. There was no doubt that the man would be ringing the police and he had to get out of there, fast. He hid away behind a shopping centre, nestled in amongst the bin bags and dumpsters. He opened the first bottle, throwing the lid away and took a massive gulp. It burnt his throat. But it tasted so good. It washed away the taste in his mouth, quenching his thirst. When half the bottle had gone, he stared at the bottle, turning it over in his hands.

The anger that had so consumed him had faded away to be replaced with fear. What Kyle had done was unforgivable. This was all his fault. Dan wanted to kill him. How long had he known for? Was this why he'd been so insistent on helping him? He'd said he'd not long found out, but how could he not have known?

Because you'd never told anyone about Sam, he thought. How would Kyle have known that the woman he'd hit and killed was Dan's girlfriend?

He was going to be in massive trouble. With the police, the hospital, his friends, family. He had to make sure no one found him this time. There was no going back. He'd just keep drinking until it all went away.

The second bottle was almost gone and there was no more thinking. The alcohol had filled the emptiness in his heart where Sam had once been. His vision was hazy, his hands uncoordinated and his body felt light as air. He threw the remainder of the bottle away with a satisfying smash. He was vaguely aware of noises and flashing lights as he crawled out of his drunken den. He'd only moved so he could throw up without covering himself. Now he had to hide before he was caught again.

His shoulders bounced off the walls. His feet kept tripping and a few times he didn't catch himself in time and landed right on his face. But he didn't feel anything. A few people approached him to ask if he was ok. He met them with shouting and flailing arms. And then the flashing lights were back. He panicked and tried to run in the opposite direction. Only, in his vodka induced bubble, he ran into the path of oncoming traffic, the bus unable to break in time and ploughing right into him.