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He sat at the bar indulging in his favorite drink of choice for the night; Gin mixed with tonic––– sweet but bitter, the scent of citrus and pine. These days he spent his time there, at home mostly allowing liquor to circulate through his system so he could escape all his problems. He didn't have many, but the few he did have reshaped his life tragically. Alcohol was his best friend. It burned the back of his throat, and he loved it. It made the pain much easier to bear, comforted him in ways a human being couldn't because a human being couldn't handle him. A person couldn't tolerate the anguish he felt daily from the wounds rooted deep inside him, but he knew it wasn't an inability, but something that was unwanted of the opposite sex.
Christopher Maurice Brown had demons because of what he's endured and those who abandoned him as a result. Those who mistreated him, those he killed, and those who killed his loved one. His only friend being Barry Bradford nicknamed Mijo who he joined in the army lost his life to save his. They were brothers not by blood, but their bond ran deeper than that nonetheless. He was family, and to lose him and witness it was something he could never get over.
With loss came more loss when he lost his eyesight. It made him feel useless not being able to see anything. Having the option of using a cane or having a seeing-eye dog that could help him get around. It insulted him that people thought he was a weak man that couldn't support himself. He didn't need the sympathy or the pity because he could operate as he would if he still could see. There were only a few exceptions, overall, he was fine.
He downed his drink before the bartender brought him another. Chris was a regular, but a conversation between the two was never sparked; he was reticent. It was a mutual understanding between the two that he had issues weighing heavily on him he couldn't bring himself to speak about, so the bartender never pressed him. Their communication was through alcohol; depending on how sunken Chris was determined what his beverage of choice would be for the night. Sometimes he would be fixated on a drink, whereas other nights, the selections were sporadic due to his mood swinging.
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He wished he could have a woman. Just the thought that one day he could have a family. Be in love. Have a wife he could love unconditionally, a wife that would reciprocate the love just the same. Not be frightened by his past because they love him no matter what–— proving that their love wasn't conditional. The thought of him having a woman's arms wrapped around his waist, and her legs wrapped around his. That she would be there when he woke up in the morning. The smell of her; sensuous and warm. It was a constant thought, but he finally gave up on it.
