My New Obsession [BxB]

Chapter Twenty-Eight- Until The End Of Everything [Part Three]

 "James..."

 "Yes, George?"

 "Get the vodka." he whispered, not even looking at me.

 "Um... are you sure?"

 "Yes." He sniffed. "I don't want to feel anything for a while."

 I knew that I should argue with him. The feeling of my brain coming up with a thousand excuses for why it was a bad idea to drink was practically physical. But none of them, not one single argument came close to opposing my overwhelming need to drink.

 I kissed George on the cheek before leaving the room. It felt wrong to leave him on his own at this point in time... I was surprised that he could even talk. My mind was cloudy; every movement laborious in the aftermath of today's events, and Matt wasn't even my blood brother. The horror that was plaguing George was unimaginable to me. How could I help him through this?

 Perhaps by making him comfortable? Obeying all of his desires, staying by his side for a while. But who was I kidding; I was getting the vodka more for me than I was for him. The words I had spoken a few hours previous, my statement of regret and a willingness to change, had all long since fled my brain. Alcohol had been my coping mechanism for far too long now for me to instantly change my ways.

 After coming across an unopened bottle of vodka- a rare find in the Foster house- in the kitchen, I headed quickly back upstairs. I had a terrible, horrible feeling that in my absence George might have harmed himself... but no, there he was. He stared into space and didn't acknowledge me as I approached him, so I slipped the bottle into his hand and sat beside him on the bed. He functioned slowly but soon enough the lid was unscrewed and the glass bottle was raised to his lips. It stayed there for a long while and with every hurried gulp he took I began to feel regret for indulging him.

 Someone, probably Bex who hadn't accompanied us to the hospital, had cleared up Matt's sick and sprayed the air with something so that coming home would be a little easier on the Foster's. It would never be the same, though; these walls embodied Matt, his room was his personality amplified. I already missed his smile, observing his gait and the loving way he held a bass. There were so many things about him that I hadn't yet learned and it killed me to know that he wouldn't be the one to teach me. I wondered if George could remember the first time he realised he was an older brother, a child with a tiny human dependant on him in many ways.

 George fumbled in his back pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit two and handed me one, inhaling, exhaling, then drinking.

 "You're intoxicating, d'you know that?" I whispered, my eyes lingering over his glorious features for the thousandth time.

 "No, but soon I'll be intoxicated." he almost chuckled.

 Without even thinking about what he was doing, he handed me the bottle. I unscrewed the lid intensely slowly so as not to snap him to his senses, and then raised the bottle to my lips. This could be my last ever drink... Closing my eyes, I tried to savour the moment.

 The harsh silence was incredibly awkward, so I decided to put on some quiet music in the background. As I sat back down on the bed, George put his arms around me and we laid down together. His strong, muscular arms looked so sturdy next to mine which looked like they could snap in a strong breeze. He sighed.

 "You and Matt are too thin." he stated bluntly. I noted the present tense, but chose to ignore it.

 "I know. I'm sorry."

 "Don't apologise, fool. It's not your fault. Nothing's your fault..."

 He slipped into unconsciousness, weary of the world, and I carefully took the bottle from his hand. I drank the rest of the vodka quickly with my head on his chest. Everything felt still, calm, unreal...