The darkness engulfs me and I welcome it.
Lorena is sleeping upstairs and today I finished the long case that had taken so much of my time for the last month. My client had won a sentence of freedom and his family had rejoiced with tears.
My desk is now empty, waiting for another case, but my hand is too eager to be empty. It craves the feel, the heat of my elixir.
My house creaks in the loneliness of night and I can almost hear the soft whispers of the laugh that used to be my past. I close my eyes and breathe in the smell of the whiskey in my hand as it blends with the ice cubes that rival my heart tonight.
The isolation that this poison offers me is the only salvation I can find from my emotions. During the day I work and take care of my daughter, but at night I am on my own remembering memories that promise to destroy me. What else can I do when I feel powerless to the darkness that I can foresee in any sober future of mine?
The night does not belong to me, it belongs to my misery; my loneliness.
My usual spot on the stairs is warm, though I have not sat on it all day. My dad is sitting in his office as usual with a bottle of whiskey beside his full glass. I can hear the ice tinkle from here; the sound reminds me of the bells of dark angels as they loom over a place of hidden darkness, unseen by others.
He likes to pretend that everything is okay; likes to imagine that I don't look like her. Every night I see his lies as they arise.
By the time that his whiskey bottle is almost empty, sleep has overtaken him.
I walk quietly down the steps, as I usually do, and put away his whiskey where he keeps the stash that he thinks I don't know about. I pull out the blanket that is set behind a pillow on the couch that furnishes his office. I put it around his shoulders and kiss him on the forehead.
"Good night dad." I whisper and he mumbles some drunken unknown words.
I walk back up the stairs and into my dark room where my cold bed awaits me.