North 4

I pressed "End Call", and as soon as my phone's screen went dull, I let my head fall backwards and groaned. I liked Garret, he was fun to be around sometimes, but only sometimes. I always had an excessively needy vibe from him. For some reason he was constantly asking me to hang out, and usually his football schedule saved me, but now that he'd quit.....
I had finished on the toilet a good five minutes ago, but I had already been plummeting into melancholy when Garret had called, which is another justification for my rain check. How was I supposed to celebrate in the state of mind that I had fallen in? Washing my hands like loose, limp rags with my flesh on them, I told myself that what I needed was to be alone, but I knew that would do me no good. The company of others, even Garret's company, was what I needed in my depression; however, what I found myself wanting was the comforting weight of loneliness, the cool enclosure of a dark room and a sad song. That felt more fitting, to be lost in my own unhappiness rather than to combat it. To cure myself of misery would took energy, effort, and will, three things that I had left under her bedsheets. So instead of helping myself, I decided to lose myself.
Without allowing time for debate, I drove from my quiet apartment to the deafening silence of a liquor store before noon. I bought only vodka, and lots of it, seeing it as poetic justice that I poison my liver with what she used to poison my heart. The man behind the counter rung up the bottles. I was able to buy booze my first year of college thanks to the three times in three different grades I had been held back for "behavior development issues". It was tough dealing with the blowback of those years all through high school, but it still came with its perks it seemed.
"Party tonight?" he asked.
"You could say that," I answered with my most poorly-performed smirk.
"Thought everybody would have that mess outta their systems after last night."
"What happened last night?" I asked, and this time the expression on my face wasn't manufactured.
"Ya didn't hear? Team lost in the last quarter cus' of some bullshit referee, and the whole damn stadium turned upside down. There was a riot in the parking lot, people looting the concession stands and gift shops of the event center. Poor players barely got off the field alive." This was news to me. Last night I had been too busy sleeping without dreaming and dreaming without sleeping to notice anything else going on in this town.
"Have a good day," the man called from behind me. I waved over my shoulder and that was it.
Back at my apartment, I dropped my keys and wallet onto the carpet but held onto the alcohol. I had felt the bottles' presence in the front seat like a fire that I should put out. Now, in my hands, the cold glass felt reassuring in an underhanded way. I knew this solution wasn't a solution at all, but I didn't care. I knew this decision would make my pain harder to confront, but I didn't care. I knew throwing myself into this drunken hole was incredibly counterproductive and probably even harmful, but I didn't care. I just wanted the taste of her tongue out of my mouth.
So, I swallowed fire, and her ice melted in my throat.