A New Year's Kiss (BoyxBoy)

24. I'm So Sorry

Jay

I found it somewhat ironic that after the first day of not drinking in a very long time, I woke up with the worst hangover of my life.

It took me the best part of an hour to finally pull my head off my pillow. I'm not sure I would have managed at all if I didn't have a desperate need to pee.

I sat at the small table in the kitchen, nursing a pint glass of water. I was gripping the glass so tightly my knuckles were turning white. I slowly released my hands off the glass and watched them start to shake. I quickly gripped the glass again.

I knew I was drinking a lot, but it still surprised me how bad the withdrawal was proving to be. I knew I needed to eat but I felt really queasy. I looked around the kitchen and found half of a loaf of bread. I looked at the best before date. Hmmm, two days ago. I picked out a slice and scanned it for mould. I couldn't see any so I popped it in the toaster.

Mr Finley was collecting my car from the police pound today. I couldn't drive it as my licence had been taken off me. I'm not sure I wanted to see the car again anyway.

My body shivered at the memories still plaguing my mind.

After some toast and a shower I started to feel more alive. Don't get me wrong, I still felt like shit, but at least I could function.

Without thinking I walked to the fridge and pulled out a can of beer. I opened it and took a sip. As soon as the taste hit my tongue I realised what I had done and spat out the liquid as if it had scolded my mouth.

I felt disgusted. The taste, the smell, it all reminded me of that night. It reminded me of who I had become, and I hated that person.

I quickly poured the can down the sink and headed to the door. I needed to run.

I used to run a lot growing up. As a child I would have races and run around for no particular reason, but as a teenager I ran to relieve the stress. It was also a great way to keep fit and keep the weight off.

I hadn't been running in almost a year. You would have thought I would have put on weight with all the drinking and little exercise, but to be honest, I ate so little I was thinner than I ever had been.

But I didn't look good for it. I was terribly out of shape and my body lacked the nutrients to look healthy.

I put my headphones in and began with a light jog.

It was anything but easy. I felt my joints aching, like I was wearing a rusty suit of armour and every step was like running through thick mud.

The further I ran though, the better I felt. Not physically, physically I felt like my body was about to fall apart, but mentally, I felt like the fog was being lifted. The burning sensation that spread through my body felt like someone was sticking a million needles into my muscles. The pain helped. I liked the pain. I needed the pain. I deserved the pain.

After running for around half an hour I found myself outside the hospital. I stopped and allowed myself to catch my breath while staring up at the huge brown stone building.

Alex was somewhere in there.

I felt drawn to the building. I knew I shouldn't go in, but I also knew there was no way I couldn't go in.

I took a few deep breaths and walked through the front door.

I wandered over to reception.

"Excuse me, can you tell me where Alex Bateson is being treated?"