Page 48 of Misguided

“I guess not,” he answers, stepping back. “Call out if you need any more help.”

“Yeah, I will.”

He leaves the room, pulling the door slightly as he does. I cross over to where Dog lies fast asleep, at least it seems as though he is. Just as much of a chance that he’s simply too messed up to move.

“I’m going to turn the light on, okay?” I was told once that having the light helps fight the spins because your mind has visual anchors to ground you, objects to focus on. Never worked for me, but hey, worth a try for him I guess.

He grumbles in response as I cross over and hit the switch, the bulb taking a few seconds to warm up to its full strength.

“How’s that?”

He flops an arm off the side of the bed and then manages to lift it with one thumb stuck high.

Winning, then.

“Be back in a minute.”

Certain he’ll be okay on his own, I skim downstairs and around the back of the late night revelers to retrieve a couple of bottles of water and a packet of Advil. I double back and step into the washhouse, retrieve a bucket, and then make my way back upstairs.

His head lifts from where he’s now seated on the floor as I enter, his back against the side of the bed. “Needed to be upright.”

His brow pinches, flattens, and then sets in a deep frown as he tilts forward.

The water and Advil hit the floor, and I barely manage to scrape the bucket underneath him before he lets loose again. The stench hits my nose hard, even my arm covering my face does fuck all to stop it from permeating the air I breathe.

“What the fuck did you drink?”

He shrugs, cradling the bucket. “It burned at the start.” He wretches. “But was okay once my tongue went numb.”

Fucking idiots. I guess a lot hasn’t changed then. The men still drink like they have iron guts and the constitution of a seventeen-year-old.

“Ever thought of giving it up? The heavy drinking?” I ask.

His bloodshot eyes find mine, and a smile spreads over his lips before he chuckles. “You’re funny.”

Yeah.

Hilarious.