Expected ~H.S

Intoxication abilities.

Harry's POV

I didn't quite understand it. I didn't quite understand any of it. Everything was confusing and it actually hurt to try and sort it out; organizing them to try and get a clearer picture was nearly impossible. My mind was constantly at battle. A bloody fucking battle. It hurt. Physically and by all means, mentally.

On the outside, I might as well have been dead. The sleep deprivation these last few nights had sent me into a comatose drive, while still afoot. Every night; the same routine: Drink, sleep, wake up in the middle of the night, drink, sleep, wake up, take pain killers, drink water, shower, drink, and then, somehow, every night, I would find myself perched up on a bar stool, flirting with Ms.Lenny; A forty-two year old transvestite. It was beyond fucked up in all to many ways, yet, every single god dammed night, I was there, doing the same thing. I blamed the lack of sleep; I knew it wasn't the logical reason, though.

The inside wasn't much better, at all. If anything, My mental state was the reason my gears were set into a comatose drive. Not even the alcohol could drown the deadly thoughts. They were there, 24/7, not a faultier for miles and miles to come.

My darkest demons; the ones I had escaped and left behind many years ago, were chasing me, and my lungs felt like they would collapse at any given moment. They were burning from lack of oxidation, and knowing that there was no get away didn't help. There weren't any dark alleys I could hide in to catch my breath for even a diminutive second. For the second time in my life, I wish someone would just take me; take me away from all this bullshit. Sure, pain was a promised factor, but I'd take a bullet threw my head to stop all this. Literally. Anything different would be an honest relief; anything to escape this personal hell hole, I'd be gracious for.

The most annoying part, was that I didn't know why I felt this way. I didn't understand why my mind was at constant war; thoughts against feelings. Some days my thoughts got the best of me, and others, my feelings.

It sucked, so much. At times, i'd thought about trading my life for some peace; a dirty deal with the devil. It was wrong but it guaranteed at least a little bit of tranquility, and god did I loath for some.

I was desperate for any thing that stopped the constant throb of memory's. Right now, that throb went away the slightest bit every time I tipped a bottle back. And that, in all honesty, is why I'm here, waiting for Ms.Lenny to return with my glass of beer.

Beer wasn't a regular thing for me. It was amongst the questionables. I couldn't stand beer, at all. It tasted like straight up piss. The smell was deplorably horrendous, if even.

After three nights of sitting alone, at my little corner of the bar- which I officially claimed as mine- I came up with a game; aside from my other one, "Quality vs. Quantity". This gave me something to do; something to try. I had challenged myself to finish every single beverage Howard's bar and Grill offered. I'd made it threw seven each night, so far; breaking a record tonight, as I'm on my eighth.

The bad thing wasn't that I had consumed eight drinks in one night, though. After those eight drinks I only felt slightly buzzed. I could start a fight, jump on a table, strip, fuck, anything in the state I'm in; problem is, I still felt them, the feelings. They wouldn't go away no matter how many glasses I chugged.

Messing with my mind is one thing, messing with my intoxication abilities is another.

"Here-'ya are." I cringe at the southerner, Ms.Lenny, as she slides my glass down the bar. I had always wondered why she took it upon herself to move to London. She did nothing of any value for anyone. She was nothing but a deadbeat bar tender, flirting with underage men.