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Felix promised himself that he wouldn’t let this happen again. He promised he wouldn’t drink to the point he couldn’t breathe. He promised that he wouldn’t let his addiction control him. But he did. He was now sitting on the bathroom floor puking his guts out. He was feeling all the stomach acid burning his throat as chunks of leftovers from last-night plopped into the toilet. Gagging sounds, just filling the silent bathroom.
It was 12am and the alcohol bottle was still so tempting to just grab and chug again. He wanted to chug it just to get that high he desires. His mind was cloudy, yet still filled with thoughts. He couldn’t breathe. He felt stuck in his own body, feeling the lack of control set in. He felt the alcohol just take him while his glasses fell off his face. His face hit the toilet. All he could think about was Linda. How pretty she was. How amazing she was to him. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve her love or compassion, he thought.
But Linda couldn’t care. Linda didn’t care. She didn’t care about Felix’s drinking habits, and she didn’t care that her husband was mentally ill. All she cared about was taking care of him. She just wanted to make sure he was okay. Then the oh so familiar footsteps approach the bathroom. Then they descend. Soon, he realized they were hallucinations, and Felix was losing hope for his future. He chugged more from the vodka bottle that was sitting on the floor, and the burn that flowed down his throat felt so satisfactory. It felt divine.
Adrenaline, the most deadliest of any regular drug. The one that can make someone do the stupidest of things. The one that can somehow be naturally produced but also so strong it can be detrimental. The one thing that can make Felix reckless. That’s the one naturally produced drug that makes him get up and stumble around while puke is still coming up from his stomach. His eyes flutter open and shut. He felt lightheaded, but he grabbed onto the walls and continued into the kitchen.
Stumbling over dining room chairs and his own feet, he finally manages to get to the kitchen. He finally gets to the granite island in the middle of the kitchen, holding onto it while he holds in the puke that refuses to stay down. His knuckles are going white from the loss of blood. His face was flushed, panting and crying when the despair hit him and made him realize that he is out of all of the hope he previously had.
He was alone, and he knew that. He knew he was alone and that’s what made it so much worse. Jack and Rose wanted nothing to do with him ever since his addiction got this bad. They claimed he “wasn’t safe around kids” when he acted so irrationally. But he knew they were right. He just accepted the fact that nobody wanted anything to do with him. He didn’t try to fix anything that was wrong with him and instead drowned himself in guilt and shame.
The shame being his addiction that he refused to admit he has, and the guilt being him pushing away everyone and everything that loves him. But he couldn’t help it, because the only thing that takes away his pain is the alcohol. So even as he falls onto the floor and his head bangs on the counter behind him, all he can think about is the people he loves. Linda, Rose, Jack, he missed all the people he pushed away. The room felt warm, like a blanket covering him.
And a liquidy substance leaked out onto the tiled floor. It was dark red, a rich, crimson color. He couldn’t process anything. He couldn’t process that he was dying on the kitchen floor and that his breathing felt unsteady. All he could process was pain. Instead of trying to get up and fix his mistakes he decided to close his eyes, and fall asleep slowly. He chose to have his blood flow out onto the floor as his brain lost consciousness. He let himself waste away on the floor, keeping those who love him in his head.
And then, suddenly, he was gone. His carcass lying on the floor with a blood puddle surrounding him and staining his clothes.