Destined

Sixty Five

Vince

I felt like someone had beaten my head in with a lead pipe. And then stuck said lead pipe into my brain. I rolled over in my bed and stared at the ceiling. It was too bright. The light was too loud. I took several breaths and sat up. I must have done it too fast because the world spun over and threw me back on my bed. I groaned. Coffee. I needed coffee. Getting to the kitchen presented a problem.

I sat on my bed for a while, staring at the picture on the wall above it. Kristina's drawing. The one of us. I'd had it framed and hung over my bed so I could look at it whenever I went to bed and woke up. That's if she wasn't beside me in bed. Like today. I frowned.

After a few more minutes of trying to control my pounding head, I sat up, extra slow, and pulled myself out of bed. When was the last time I had a hangover this bad? Four years ago. Because that's the last time I went on such a drinking spree.

I shuffled myself to the kitchen, somehow managed to get through the routine of making coffee, sat down at my counter, and drank. And drank. And drank. I closed my eyes, trying hard, and failing miserably, to stop seeing her face. Kristina. What the hell did I do?

The look on her face when she'd walked into the kitchen. It was forever engraved in my mind. She was....disappointed. She looked at me like I had disappointed her, and I knew I had. I was so blinded by my pain that I'd fallen off the wagon, again. And then I'd taken it out on her.

Finding Reese in my house didn't help things either. But I hadn't meant to let Reese in. I'd been arguing with Matt, who'd found me drinking. He'd banged the door and left. Not a second later, there was a knock. I thought it was him again. I opened the door, ready to lay into him, when Reese walked in. In hindsight, I should have known it wasn't Matt, he had a damn key, he wouldn't have knocked.

Reese came in, mumbling promises of an innocent visit. She was going on and on about how she missed being able to hang out with me and she'd be apologizing to Kristina as well for her less than stellar act that night at dinner all those weeks ago. She must have noticed I wasn't really paying attention to her when I picked up my whiskey bottle and took a gulp.

She just stopped talking and stared at me. By that time, I'd already polished up a six pack of good old beer. Now that I'd changed to something even harder, I was well passed drunk, considering I was passed half way through the bottle.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

She seemed genuinely concerned. And at that moment, that's all I wanted. Not Matt's anger. I wanted someone to actually be concerned about me. Because in that moment, I felt like I was that nineteen year old boy who'd just lost his parents all over again. Filled with anger and regret and a lot of other emotions I couldn't sift through.

"I'm fine," I said.

Because in as much as her concern touched me, it wasn't her I needed it from. Kristina. I needed Kristina. I needed her touch and her presence to make this go away. But how could I face her? Now that I'd been drinking again? What would she think? Just the idea of it had me sick to my stomach.

I rushed into my kitchen to throw up. I really couldn't hold my liquor. I felt Reese's hand on my back, trying to soothe me, but it just felt wrong. Before I could ask her to move, I heard Kristina's voice. And cue the disappointment.

You know what happened next. I just wanted to scare her. I wanted her to leave. I couldn't handle her looking at me like I was some sort of screw up. Up until yesterday, she'd always looked at me like I was a hero, her hero. Like I was the best thing that had ever happened to her. And then last night, it was all gone.