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The roar of the pounding in my head wakes me up as I move my head to the side. The sun blares against my face as it streams through the blinds of our bedroom. I wonder if Charlotte opened them to give me a rude awakening. Her angry words come flooding back to me.
You’re a mess.
You’re a ghost.
You reek of alcohol.
I groan, thinking about this bender I’ve been on. I’ve gone through almost two bottles a day since the hearing, and I can see the fear in Charley’s eyes every time I look at her.
She knows your secret.
You have a problem.
And she’s denying it like you are.
I sit up, resting my elbows on my knees. I try to quiet the splitting headache as the hangover I’ve been avoiding for the better part of two weeks comes at me full force.
I trudge to the bathroom and take a few Advil before swishing the taste of alcohol out of my mouth. I glance at my watch and I see that it’s not even three pm.
Three pm and you’ve already passed out from drinking.
I run a hand through my hair and frown as I look at myself in the mirror hating the person staring back at me. My eyes are tired and red, dark bags circle my eyes and it looks as if I’ve aged five years. I look exhausted, having barely slept last night. I tossed and turned on the couch in my den not wanting to disturb Charley with my insomnia. I haven’t shaved in at least a week, and my beard has grown in, slightly unkempt. My hair is sticking up all over the place, and for a brief second, I have to recall when the last time it was I’d showered. I’m sure Charlotte would be all over this mountain man look, if I didn’t look more like ahomelessmountain man.
My heart constricts as I think about Charley’s face when she threw my drink against the wall, the anger shooting out of her eyes at me.
It’s official, I’m at rock bottom.
I run a hand over my face, scratching the skin before I turn on the tap. I collect the cool water in my hands and submerge my face in it. I brush my teeth, and I cringe thinking about the last time I’d even done this.
At least before, I was a functioning alcoholic.
What are you doing to yourself, Will?
My stomach flips in response, the anxiety of facing Charlotte coursing through me.
“Charley!” I call out, but there’s no answer. “Charlotte,” I call a second time, as I make my way downstairs.
I find her on the deck, staring out into the fall day. You can feel the chill in the air that indicates fall is coming, but it’s still warm enough to only need a sweater. She’s pulled her knees up to her chin, with a blanket wrapped around her. A box of tissues sits next to her, and what appears to be a cup of tea. “Hey.” I’m wary about approaching her, wondering what kind of mood she’s in after what happened earlier. Her eyes flash to mine, anger running rampant in her eyes, but I can tell she’s been crying. “I’m —”
“Sorry?” she asks. I’d yet to witness this level of anger towards me, and I feel out of my depth.
Not to mention hungover.
“Charlotte…” I try my best to tell her with my eyes how sorry I am. How much I love her. How much she means to me. But the look that she’s giving me tells me she’s not hearing it.
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
That I’ve relapsed? Yes, but not at the moment.
I drop to the seat next to her, and stare at her willing her to answer her own question. “What do you mean?” She moves her gaze around me and focuses on something on the other side of her.
I crane my neck slightly and only now do I see that there’s a box on the floor next to her. She pulls out an empty bottle of Macallan and sets it on the table. “Found your little stash.” Her eyes flit to the box on the ground and I swallow knowing exactly what else is in there. A lot of empty bottles. I was too nervous to throw them out; I knew Charlotte would see just how much I was putting away if they were in the trash. I knew I had to get rid of the evidence, but I hadn’t yet. I was hoarding them until trash day, when I could sneak out in the middle of the night and put them in the bins that sit outside of my house. If I have to guess there’s close to fifteen bottles in there, showing her just how much I’ve drunk in the last week.
“Charlotte.”
“Will, you have a problem,” she whispers. Her lip trembles and her eyes well up with tears as if she’s realizing that not only do I have a problem, but a dangerous one.
I swallow, not knowing how I’m going to explain this.
