Page 93 of Kings Don't Break

I set down my empty beer bottle and squint at the rest of the saloon in search of the back door. I’m too fucked up to ride my Street Bob home. I can barely stand straight, swaying in place. Hope Mace doesn’t mind if I crash at his house for the night…

Only when the fluorescent lights of a gas station emerge do I brake. I park my bike at one of the pumps, pulling off my helmet and releasing what feels like my first breath in years. The one I’ve been holding in from the moment I turned up at Mom and Bill’s house. It wipes clean of my lungs, but instead of feeling relief, I feel… empty.

Nothing new. Nothing I haven’t felt before.

The cold isn’t what’s numbed me. It’s the deep pit that’s existed inside me since I was a small boy.

An emptiness that’s fucking excruciating to the point I’ll do anything to make it stop. I’ll do anything to feel something good.

I rise up off my bike and follow the bright lights guiding me into the convenience store. The gas station’s deserted, not a single other car or motorist anywhere—why would there be minutes before midnight?

The clerk doesn’t bother looking up when I enter. The store’s as vacant as the parking lot and gas pumps outside. My boots clack with every footstep that takes me nearer to the back of the store. A whole aisle stocked with cases of beer and bottles of alcohol for any occasion. I stop in front of the selection of whiskey, a buzzing noise starting up in my ears.

My fingers twitch. My heart pounds away. A cool sweat breaks out over my skin, and I edge closer like I’m in the presence of an old friend.

It is an old friend—the kind that understands me no matter what and makes me feel fucking good. It makes me forget.

I husk out a rough breath, shoving my fingers into my hair. The itch comes on so strong, it’s all I can do to stand here and keep my hands to myself. It’d be so damn easy to reach out and scratch. Do what I’ve done so many times in the past and give in.

Before I know what’s hit me, I’m blacking out. I’m gripping the handle of a bottle of whiskey and striding toward the counter. I don’t wait for the clerk to ring me up. My money’s slammed on the counter as I walk out into the shivering cold.

I mount my bike, twist off the cap, and stare into the amber contents of the bottle. The scene’s transformed into some warped nightmare where I’m powerless to stop myself. The urge is too fucking strong. I’m too fucking weak.

I blink back the moisture in my eyes and bring the bottle to my lips with a hand that shakes.

The whiskey slips past my lips. Poisonous fire that torches my throat and infects my system. A single swallow that undoes years of dedication.

Years of trying to change. Years of doing better. Being the man I’ve always wanted to be.

The burning liquid slides down my throat and leaves me with a worse feeling than the emptiness I was trying to fill.

The gut punch of realizing what I’ve done. Followed by a dull ache of regret.

I don’t feel any better. I feel a hundred times worse.

The door to the back exit of the bar’s only a couple steps away. Then I’ve gotta make it across the patio and rock pit and I’ll be home free. Is Velma home to let me in? Why the fuck’s it so hot in here?!

I take a couple staggering footsteps toward the backdoor. The room’s started spinning. Walking becomes a difficult task, like the floor beneath me’s shifting.

“CASH!”

My name’s bellowed at the top of Bill’s lungs. A slur even though it’s deafeningly loud.

In a feat that’s truly impressive, he’s managed to out-drink just about everybody in this bar. Including me.

I turn around to find him stumbling in my direction.

“Where the… where you think… hic… you’re going, ehh?”

He jabs a finger into my chest and thrusts his keys into my hands.

I clench my eyes shut and grit my teeth trying to hold it in. Push down the emotion that’s quickly swelling up inside me. But it’s no use—it explodes out of me in a roar that must echo for miles in the cold dark of the night.

I toss the bottle of whiskey. The glass shatters some feet off into dozens of jagged pieces.

Running my fingers through my hair, I’m gusting out heavy breaths that make me feel like my heart might bust out of my chest. I can’t say whether I’m relieved the bottle’s destroyed or if I’m frustrated that I let it get this far. I made such a stupid fucking mistake all because Mom and Bill got under my skin.

Go home, Blake. Go the fuck home. Sleep this away.