Tell Me The Same (Brandon Rogers)

17. Open

Everything went by in a drunken haze after I picked up that bottle. I was able to do stuff though, I got myself out of bed, I got myself in the shower, I picked up after my dog.
All things I don't think I could accomplish without this bottle. Or the few I had to stumble out of the house to buy.
'I'm not an alcoholic' I kept telling myself, thinking back to the word Levi had told me. Alcoholics beat their wives, they can't control themselves. Me? I have complete control. Absolute control.

Brandon was texting me before too long, asking how I was doing. I kept telling him good and kept ushering him away. He couldn't see me, I didn't want to see him. I told myself I didn't want to see him, as if willing the feeling in to existence.
Ms. Pataki also tried to make her way in here a few times, the time or two I made it to the door I barely opened it as I assured her I was fine. If she smelled the alcohol on me she might tell Brandon, I couldn't have that.

Now, I wasn't shitfaced, just buzzed enough to get myself along without thinking too hard. I just wanted to sleep and this helped me sleep...
Three days had passed since this had begun, I sat on the couch, just arriving back home from my night shift at the gas station. Popcorn begged to be pet and I obliged with my hand that was unoccupied by a beer bottle.

A few hours and beers down the road and I was actually drunk now. I watched the sunrise from my window and decided I should go to bed, only to be halted by a knock at my door.
In assumption that it was just Ms. Pataki or another neighbor, I sauntered my way over to the door, swinging it open to view whoever happened to be at my door.
It was Brandon. I stumble back, "Oh oh hey!" I cover my face some, shocked to see him.

He looks down at me, piecing things together, "Hey Buggo." He forces a thin smile on to his face. I try and steady myself on the door, "Wh-what are you doing here?" I ask.
"I just, wanted to check on you." The words seemed strained.
"Oh well, that's..." I rub my hand against my face, "That's sweet of you but you don't have t-"
"It sure seems like I do Bug." He cuts me off, walking in on his own, making his observations of the place.

I stumble up behind him, having to lean against the couch to keep what little composure I had left.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
He let out a deep sigh, turning towards me, "What do I mean? I mean, you're drunk! Again!" He waves a hand in my direction. "It's almost as if you can't stay sober for a day!" The agitation shown through his voice.
I huff, "I've been going to work! I've been functioning! This place is clean!" I kick at the ground. "Why the fuck do I need to stay sober?!"

He rubbed his eyes, "Because you're not you when you drink. Look, I realize you're dealing with stuff but surely, as a grown ass woman, you realize you can't drink that shit away." He stares at me.
I grow defensive, this struck me, it struck me hard. "I'm not-I'm not dealing with stuff! I'm not drinking anything away— I, I.." I stumble on my words as my eyes begin to sting. I couldn't cry, not in front of him.

"You need to be open with me, I'm your friend. I can help you." He steps closer to me and I take an instinctive step away. "I want to help you." He spoke tenderly.
I glare at the ground, fighting the bubbling emotions I've been trying to dull with the copious amounts of alcohol. "I.. I can't." I mumble under my breath.
Brandon closes the gap between us, his hands grasping for mine, "Yes, you can." He tries to assure me, he gives my hands a small squeeze.

With my head downcast the tears finally break through, falling down my face. My shoulders hunch over and my grip on Brandon's tighten I don't know how much.
"It just hurts so badly Brandon. I'm.. I'm so.. so sad?" I lean my shaking body against his chest. "And, drinking has always numbed that. Being numb is shit too but it's better than this hurt. This sadness." The sobbing makes it hard to speak and he lets go of my hands to wrap around my small body.

I try to calm myself but it's hard, "This happens so often. I just want to be happy Brandon. Why can't I be happy?" I cry in to his chest, the alcohol influenced and enhanced these feelings, causing me to possibly over exaggerate. "It all feels so pointless. I'm so damn tired of trying so hard but ending up with nothing." I hadn't spoken about any of this out loud before, definitely not with Brandon. He doesn't speak and that causes me to crumble a tiny bit more, "and you, you're amazing. You don't deserve this Brandon. You don't deserve me dropping this on you. You deserve a friend who is happy and and—"

He shakes his head, "No no no, Hey. I need you to tell me this." He taps my temple, "I need you to tell me about the crazy shit in your head. That's part of friendship." He tries to assure me but everything feels so cloudy, I don't think his words will work.
"Why is it like this? In my brain? I want to be happy Brandon." I ask, he can't answer this, how is he supposed to know.
He shook his head, wrapping a hand behind my own and and making me look up at him. "I don't know, but I'm tired of having you fight this alone, I need you to let me in. Let me help you."

It was bittersweet, him caring so much. I didn't want him to be worried for me, but the fact that he did was nice. What if I disappointed him though? What if I only got worse?
We slowly made our way to the couch, him holding me all the while, and sat down.
"It's going to be okay." He spoke once more after awhile.
I didn't really believe him, but I didn't want to argue so a small "okay." Left my mouth. The word cracky and hoarse.

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I will be inactive till January. I'm trying to get in as much time with my boyfriend as I can before he has to go back to Texas. Thank you all for reading! I hope you all are having a great holiday season. Love you guys