And chugged it.
And chugged it.
Until the bottle was empty the burn so great that I justified my tears of hurt as tears of pain.
“Oh, yeah. Missed ya, buddy,” I growled.
I tossed the empty beer can into the sink and gathered the rest of the alcohol out my fridge. I set seven cans of beer and two wine coolers on the counter before pulling out half a bottle of tequila, a full bottle of bourbon, and a barely-there bottle of scotch out of the freezer. I’d been fighting the craving and the need for so long, and I couldn’t do it anymore. I wasn't sure if I’d ever get Astrid back. For all I knew, my friendship with Brooks would end over all of this. And if that was the case, I’d have to take a leave of absence from the crew just to screw my head back on straight.
Everything was fucked up, and I wanted to be, too.
Here we go.
I cranked open another beer and chugged. The foam poured over the edges of my mouth and ran down my throat, comforting me in the familiar warmth my gut had missed. I tore through all of them before cracking open the last of the scotch and shaking the bottle into my mouth. I uncorked the tequila and rummaged around for limes. But when I couldn’t find any, I decided to take the last of the orange juice I had, pour it into the tequila bottle, and shake.
Boom. Brunch.
But as I opened the bottle back up to start chugging, I paused. I peered into the clear bottle of old tequila and half-rancid orange juice before I held it over the sink. None of this tasted good. The beer smelled like piss and tasted like lake water. The scotch itself resembled acid more than anything else. And the smell of the tequila physically made me queasy.
“Not worth it,” I murmured.
I poured it down the drain before reaching for the bourbon. I opened it up and watched the brown liquid glug itself down the drain before I turned on the water. I gathered up all of the cans and bottles into a plastic bag before I rummaged around my pantry, finding more booze shoved into the darkest corners of my apartment.
I poured them all down the sink and stuffed the plastic bag full of the empty containers.
Then, with the water still running, I walked the bag of trash out to the dumper.
“Porter? What are you doing?” Astrid asked.
And at the sound of her voice as I closed my front door, I whipped my eyes up and found her standing in front of me.
With her nostrils flaring as she sniffed the air.
Twenty
Astrid
Staying at Josie’s did nothing for my mind. I grew anxious, I paced around her floors, and eventually she cut me loose. Not that I didn’t want to hang out with her at her beautiful studio apartment or anything, but Porter kept popping up into my mind. I mean, why the fuck was I so afraid of making my brother angry? If he didn’t want to get on board with my happiness, that was his issue. Not an issue I had to fix. Fuck my brother’s feelings on this shit. Porter made me happy and I loved him. I had loved him my entire life, and now I had the chance to be with him.
So, it felt like a no-brainer as to where I needed to be.
“Porter? Have you been drinking?” I asked.
I figured he wasn’t at my place because of my threat. But standing here in front of him when he smelled like alcohol turned my stomach. Had he backslid because of me? Maybe he hadn’t stopped and I simply didn’t notice. I couldn’t love another alcoholic again. I saw that down-spiral once and was helpless to stop it, and I couldn’t do it again.
I left him once over it and look what happened. Don’t judge him for it.
“Astrid. What are you doing here?” Porter asked.
My eyes fell to the plastic bag of empty alcohol bottles. “How—how much did you drink?”
“No kind of hard liquor, I promise. I came to my senses before that happened.”
My eyes whipped up to his. “What?”
I watched him walk past me and I turned toward the stairs. He shuffled down them before he paused halfway and looked up at me. He beckoned with his head for me to follow so I reached into his apartment and grabbed the door knob.
And after closing his front door, I rushed to his side.
“I will admit that I had several beers before I came to my senses. But for my liver, that’s a quick shower.”
I snickered, even though it technically wasn’t funny. “How many beers?”
He drew in a deep breath. “Six? Seven? I shotgunned them, so half of it is on my kitchen floor anyway.”
I sighed. “But… the liquor bottles?”
He leapt off the last few steps before holding out his hand for me. “Poured it all down the drain. Still got the water running, too.”
I slipped my hand into his and walked down the rest of the steps. “I’m proud of you for that. I can only imagine how hard that was.”
“Eh, don’t praise me just yet. I cleaned out my fridge and pantry, but I’ve still got three stash places around the apartment. Once I get it all poured out, then we can celebrate.”
He tried to let go of my hand, but I squeezed even harder. And when he shot me a quizzical look, I interlocked our fingers. His face softened and his eyes flashed with happiness. He pulled me to his side and kissed the top of my head, making butterflies shoot off in my gut. I loved this man and everything that came with him, and if he was strong enough to stop himself while drinking then I was strong enough to stand up to my brother.
And as we walked to throw the bottles into the dumpster, I thought things couldn’t get any better than this.
“I’m really proud of you, you know,” I murmured.
He led me away from the dumpster. “I’m done with that shit. It won’t even come into the house. Or my apartment.”
I nodded. “And I’m not really a drinker unless Josie and I are going out, so there’s no random bottles of wine at my place or anything.”
He kissed the top of my head again. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
I tightened my grip on his hand. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”
“Come on upstairs, I’ll show you my bare bones place. It’s the place of an alcoholic right now, but I hope to breathe some personality into it eventually.”
I giggled. “I’d love to see it anyway.”
We walked up the stairs, hand in hand, and when we entered his apartment I saw what he was talking about. I didn’t really see it before when I closed his front door, but now that my eyes were bouncing off the walls of the place he called “home,” I saw what he meant. He didn’t have much furniture other than a rickety couch, a cracked flat-screen television, and the bed in his bedroom was just a mattress and box-spring on the floor. I walked into his tiny bathroom and wondered how the hell he survived this every morning. I mean, the shower itself looked like it was much too tiny for him.
“Can you even get under that showerhead?” I asked.
Porter snickered. “Not in the slightest. I have to bend over every time I want to wash my hair.”
“Yikes. We need to get you out of this place.”
“Well, my lease is up in a couple of months and I haven’t put in an intent to stay, so I guess I should start looking for other places.”
“You could come stay with me.”
He froze. “I can’t believe you’re actually offering that.”