━ chapter ix

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──── ❝ chapter ix ❞ ────

❝ you asked ❞

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          MY GRANDFATHER'S SITTING ROOM WASN'T exactly a good hiding place. It was still fairly open and should any of my family members walk by, they'd see me sitting on the large velvet sofa with one of his knick-knacks rolling between my fingers. Luckily the room was in a particularly quiet part of the house so I'd be safe from prying eyes for a good while.

          I wanted to go in my room or maybe the movie room and watch "Haiykuu!!" until my eyes got bleary. I knew that if I went to either of those places, though, one of my family members- more than likely Nick, though I doubted even that- would be able to sniff me out with ease.

          I contemplated everything. I think that one of the worst things about this, the first being Joey totally ignoring me, is that my sobriety was brought into question. Nearly three years of my life spent working towards a better me, the pride that I saw in my father's eyes when I showed him my customer glittery, one-year sobriety chip I had ordered off of Etsy. He smiled brightly at me, told me that I was on the right path towards success.

          Even now as I stared at the teal one I got on my second year, I wondered if the words were even anything of meaning:

"GOD GRANT ME THE SERENITY TO ACCEPT THE THINGS I CANNOT CHANGE, COURAGE TO CHANGE THE THINGS I CAN, AND WISDOM TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE"

          I didn't even know if there was a God, so how could he or she or they for all I know, give me serenity when all this God did was seem to throw things that me that I can't handle? Why did God decide to make me the imperfect sister to a perfect brother in a seemingly perfect family? Why did God make me keep secrets from the people you're told you can always trust? Why did God make me have to live up to standards not only set by my family, but by society? Why did God allow me to pick up that bottle for the first time in the first place?

         It would be so easy to just...

         There was a cabinet of some of my grandfather's favorite whiskey and vodka across from me. The bottles were left unopened for a few years, not really having been touched since he passed. Alcohol doesn't go bad, right? I'm sure that it would still get me numb enough for all this to go away... wouldn't it? I could forget for a while.

          Besides. It would only be one drink... only one.

          It's what I told myself as I stepped closer to the cabinet. The amber liquid looked so pretty in its bottle. It was a strong brand, so maybe only a few sips would get me going. Yeah, that's all I needed. Just a few sips. It would be fine.

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