I went into his kitchen, turned the lights on, and grabbed some garbage bags. I threw every bottle I saw into them. He was gonna hate me, and granted I'd only known him for 2 days, but god help me I was not going to let him drink himself to death.
By the time I was done, I'd filled nearly two bags purely of empty bottles. The rest of the second bag was filled with cans. I checked to see if he was asleep before I left to put them in the garbage chute, and he was; his mouth was open and he was snoring slightly. Quite cute, actually. I chuckled to myself and felt a corner of my mouth twitch upwards.
When I got back to his apartment, I started moving the full bottles into a hiding space. He had 9 bottles all together, mainly whiskey and vodka. I shook my head sadly. There were two 6 packs of beer cans, too. Because I knew he wouldn't be able to quite cold turkey, I left him one bottle of whiskey. It had already been opened though, so it wouldn't do much harm even if he were to drink it all in one. I carry four bottles at a time, all across to my apartment. I hid them in my store cupboard, because let's face it, he'll never look in there for them. I locked my door and spent the night on his couch, to keep an eye on him. I don't know why.
'Gee?' I knocked lightly on his door. A couple minutes later I heard him shuffling, then-
'What, Frankie?' I blushed a little. I liked being called that.
'Mind if I, uh..if I come in?'
'I like where this is heading...' He chuckled. I took that as a yes, and I walked in to see an already familiar sight. A hungover Gee.
'Oh baby, stahp!' I winked at him, and we chuckled. Quietly, of course.
'So what brings you here, my pocket sized pal?'
'I, uh...wanna ask you a couple questions, actually, Gee. And then I gotta tell you something you probably won't like.'
'Um, ok. Sure. Go ahead, I guess...?'
'Right. Well, first question....why do you drink so much, everyday?' He sighed. Something tells me he's been asked this question a lot.
'Is it a freaking crime to enjoy having a drink, Frank?! I haven't got a problem, either, before you say it. I drink when I wanna drink, if I don't wanna drink, then I don't. How is that bad?!'
I just nodded and looked at the floor. He sighed.
'I don't know, ok?' I looked up in surprise, to see his eyes watering. I felt my heart break instantly. I sat on the bed next to him and grabbed his hand.
'I don't fucking know why I drink, Frankie. All I know is it gets me away from all the crap. The self loathing, the depression. It just makes me feel human. Less numb. More alive. Fucking happy, Frank. Do you even know how it feels, to wish that you didn't exist?'
Without a word, or thinking for that matter, I hugged him. Then I kissed him. Then, finally-
I pulled up my sleeve and showed him my scars.
'Yes...' I whispered.
