bottle it up

Picking up, swigging the last vodka drops dehydrating at the cliff of the bottle, knocking it back, swirling it round, slamming it down and off he goes, like a drunk. I followed him. There he was flying open the bottom cupboard, bottles crashing as his clumsy hands invaded the tight space. ‘What you looking for Si?’ questioning him, as if I wasn’t aware of his conquest for more booze. ‘WHERE IS IT STEPH? I KNOW YOU’VE GOT IT.’ He seemed all worked up. ‘C’mon love I know you’ve hid It.’ He was right. The litres of Jack Daniels he was desperate for lay at the bottom of my bag, seeking the opportunity to shoot down his throat- AGAIN. ‘Don’t worry love, just hand it over, nothing will happen, if you just hand it here.’

My mind swamped with flashes of every other time. Where he left them crying, humiliated, in this reality where he believed cuts didn’t bleed, and people didn’t need to breathe.

His eyes were stern and glaring, ‘Steph.’ He said, pausing, ‘We wouldn’t want a repeat of last time.’ With a slight nefarious grin, he bashed his fist against the counter. Then he began to forage threw the cluttered cupboards, determined to capture even the slightest ounce of poison. It’s as if his entire body was drowning in deprivation, alcohol absence transformed him to pathetic, impetuous monster. Tearing the kitchen from limb to limb, raiding every last cupboard, and swiping the counter. Shards of glass smothering the bare, cold kitchen floor, blood specs staining his stale beer scented shirt, and his hands powdered in dark purple bruising. His cravings overwhelmed him, it became unbearable to witness. My hand delved into my bag, scrambling around, pulling it out…

In a cold sweat, I held out the bottle, my hand shaking and jittering. I passed it over. Grasping and clutching it, he stood hostile, his breath circulated, boozed up, his words slurring, and eyes red raw, intimidating and malicious.  Raging, flung his hand… Beat the bottle against the counter, like a baseball bat, shattering the end, pieces of glass quickly scattering amongst the rest. Then he began, dragging the remaining sharp edges across the cold counter, as beckoning loud, piercing screeches, like the cries of a dying victim, bounced across the kitchen. Clasping my ears, I crept backwards.

 ‘Why’d you hide it Steph?’ sniggering, he jolted the bottle, to the air, in a stabbing motion. ‘You know how I get without my lovely liquor. ’A smirk of sinister lying on his face, he looked me dead in the eye. ‘So why then?’ ’I-I-I.’ speechless, I froze. He wasn’t interested in knowing why I did it, he already knew, he just wanted it all back in his filthy embrace. ‘Steph- you know I don’t li- hate it when you hide my things.’ He began muttering, edging closer, as his presence grew, daunting me, and clouding the corner I stood trapped in.

I plummeted to the floor, the naked tiles pressed against my blackened knees, thoughts surfacing fast and maliciously. ‘Was I next?’ No more victims left. He stalked over me, throwing his head back; he wailed ‘WHY’D YOU DO IT!’ My body inundated, paralysed with fear and dread- capitulated with hopelessness. His body shadowing me, he knelt down and whispered…

The same words echoed to every innocent, ‘Hold your breath.’