π¨π«π«π°πͺπ»π°πΆπ΅ " πΎπ―π°πΊπ²π¬π " βββ π βββ
πgonizing thoughts spiral and churn within my mind; relentlessly tormenting. I grit my teeth, the looming discomfort gnawing against my prefrontal cortex, and I release an elongated sigh. A small, raspy whisper tumbles from my gaped lips. π πππ'π‘ ππ π‘βππ πππ¦ππππ. My fingers roll against the back of my neck, scratching and tugging at the strands that just faintly line my skin before drawing the fingertips along the border of my well-kept beard. ππ. My chest heaves and my breathing shallows. ππ.
Swiping my hands off my face, I lean my elbows against the hard, granite countertop. With the sensitive skin smearing against the hard surface, I glance up at the cabinet; the see-through glass allowing for a perfect scan of the various labels that tag each bottle. Dilated pupils, I knock the soles of my black shoes against the hardwood floor, standing still in utter hesitation. My heart seems to pump heavier with every contemplative glance, my head pounding, and my body going almost limp as I extend my grip around a bottleneck. πΉπ’ππ ππ‘.
In one swift manoeuvre, the cap echoes off the granite finish, and I tighten my grip around the bottle; succumbing to the endless pleas and chants lingering in my head. Tipping the bottle, the rim eases over my lips, with the initial drops of the dark, smoky whiskey hitting against my tongue enabling a sick, yet divine smile to tug along the edges of my lips. Finally. My fingers snake more affirmatively around the bottle, gulping down a generous helping of the booze as every fiber in my body soothes into a tranquil regression.
. . .
The empty bottle lays on the floor by the kitchen counter, with my body slumped over in a lifeless state; blacked out and drunk, πππππ.
πΌ ππππππ ππ πΌβπ πππ‘ πππ‘π‘ππ. πΌ ππππππ ππ πΌβπ ππ πππ‘π‘ππ. πΌ ππππππ ππ πΌβπ πππ‘ πππππ, πππ πππ π ππππ’π‘π, πΌ πππ ππ’π‘ βπππ π ππ.. ππππ’πππππ, ππππ ππππ. π΄ππ, πΌ πππβπ‘ ππππ. πβππ ππ ππ. π»πππ ππ πππ π ππ.
βΎβΎβΎβΎβΎβΎβΎβΎβΎβΎβΎβΎβΎβΎβΎβΎβΎβΎβΎ