For day 2 of Writing Lust, I present ‘A Bottle and a Memory.’ This short continues the happy love story trend set yesterday by ‘The Candle.’  Enjoy.

A Bottle and a Memory

He sat motionless in the corner.  The coordination required to hold the bottle of whiskey was gone, so it sat next to him on the floor.  His fingers  caressed the glass, his wrist ready to damper the pain at a moments notice.

He listened to the sound of his heartbeat.  Thu-thump.  How could it continue to beat when it was broke?  At least it processed the alcohol through his body.  He occasionally wished the beating would stop, but realized that would solve nothing.

Thu-thump.

It had been three days since she left.  Three days of booze and endless unanswered questions.  Three days of pain so immense that this was his only recourse.  He never thought this ending was possible.

Weeks earlier they were discussing marriage and family.  He thought he would be spending the rest of his life with her.  He assumed it was true love, something that would last.

He thought wrong.

Thu-thump.

She informed him that their love had faded.  That she wasn’t sure if she ever really loved him.  She did not mention anyone else.  There was no need; he knew.  Maybe he knew for a while somewhere in his mind.  Unfortunately, the message never made its way to his heart until now.

Thu-thump.

He caressed the bottle of Jim Beam; rubbing his fingers over the label the way he used to over her thighs.  Squeezing it, pulling it close like he once did with her body.  Bringing it to his lips, his tongue circled the opening.   Slowly he raised his hand over his head.  Tilting back, he provided an inlet for the cure.

The bottle nearly toppled over when it crashed back down to the floor.  While it tipped, not a precious drop of memory remover spilled.

Thu-thump

The current of her memories flowed stronger than the whiskey.  Every moment from the past six months replayed in his head.  The cafe where they first met and he eventually gathered the nerve to ask her out.  Their first date at the museum.  Their first night together.  The trip they took to Seattle.  Every moment passed before his eyes.

Thu-thump

Why did his heart continue to taunt him?  Why did it have to beat so loudly, remind him that he was still there; still alive?  Still able to feel.  It mealy reminded him that life goes on, but the pain served as enough of an indication.

He knew he would move past this feeling.  Eventually he would meet another woman, ask her out, and most likely end up back in the corner with a bottle again.  But maybe next time would be different.  Maybe he would find someone that wanted to spend her life with him.  Settle down, start a family.  Grow old and gray together, so he would never return to this place.

But that was not now.  That was someplace far in the future.  Long past this bottle of Beam, and probably one or two more.  Past the inevitable one-night stand and the counseling and support of his friends.  That would be another life, and right now he was stuck in this one.

Stuck here with a bottle and a memory.

Thu-thump