Read Online Military Romance Navy SEAL: Dangerous Affliction (Alpha Male Bad Boy Urban Romance) by Snow Rush-Sinclair - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Snow Rush-Sinclair
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were cold and that I was leaving them to die, but I didn't give a damn. I turned the corner as quickly as I could and found a different alleyway. Nobody else was there and it was dark, but that was exactly what I wanted. The thing about addicts is that we only flock with others when it's convenient. When someone else wants a favor, it is time for us to bail and be on our own. I knew they would get high, forget about it, and welcome me with open arms in just a few days. That was how it always happened.
My heart pounded in my chest and I was starting to get shakier and shakier. Breathing heavily, I pulled the flask from my pocket and unscrewed the cap. With a trembling hand, I lifted it to my lips and took in the sour, sick taste that I craved. Once upon a time, I called whiskey the nectar of the gods. As of late, I call it the devil's medicine. It makes you feel better for a minute, but then it makes you feel like hell for a lifetime.
The flask was full. I know most people would've told me I was a jerk for not fueling the fire like I should have, but that is not how alcoholism works. Every drop is precious. I panhandled all day long just to buy bottom shelf liquor that nobody else in their right mind would drink. It is one step above being made in a bathtub and the hangover would make most logical people never want to touch it again, but logic gets tossed out the window as soon as you're sick. All you do is try to get rid of that sickness. For me, alcohol is the only thing that does it. I have found every excuse in the world to abuse it.
I sat in the dark alleyway, chugging away my despair and self-loathing like the street urchin that I am. Sympathy was never something I was really interested in, because I'm not sure I ever deserved any. The only thing I really did want was someone to make me feel like I was worth something again. It really is the only thing that would ever help me get clean. Without any reason to live, I had every reason to die.
It wasn't long before I had drank half of the cheap whiskey in my flask. I had already drank a fifth, so I was getting pretty close to a fifth and a pint for the day. Most days, I would try to take it easy, but then I remembered a face that I wanted to forget very badly. I never expect hallucinations, but when they do happen, I have only one coping method.
Tears ran down my cheeks and I wiped them away with my dirty scarf. Nobody ever saw me cry and I didn't even like to admit to myself when I did. My masculinity was one of the only things that I had left. Well, it was one of the things that I like to pretend that I still had left. I wasn't being much a man by running away from my problems in alleyways, drinking booze until I couldn't think straight, but that wasn't something I wanted to think much about. Who wants to look their flaws dead in the eye? I don't think that anyone does. I'm no different.
Chapter 2 – A Hopeless Mission
I don't really remember drinking as much as I did, but I must have because the next thing that I remember was waking up in a cop car. I hated being hauled off by the police. It seemed to happen more and more often, though. As much as I wanted to think I was getting better, my problem was only getting worse. The cops liked to remind me of that every time they picked me up and hauled me off to whatever goddamn place would clean me up just to put me on the streets again. It was an ongoing cycle.
The police cruiser pulled up to the curb in front of the downtown mission and I rolled my eyes. I hated the mission. They forced food down my throat, gave me a hot shower, got my hopes up, and then sent me right back to the hell from which I came. They say that they want to help, but I don't think that's help. Sometimes, people do things for others just to feel good about themselves. That is really what the mission was all about. Those people didn't care about me. They cared about their image. Helping homeless people every day sounds pretty heroic. They
My heart pounded in my chest and I was starting to get shakier and shakier. Breathing heavily, I pulled the flask from my pocket and unscrewed the cap. With a trembling hand, I lifted it to my lips and took in the sour, sick taste that I craved. Once upon a time, I called whiskey the nectar of the gods. As of late, I call it the devil's medicine. It makes you feel better for a minute, but then it makes you feel like hell for a lifetime.
The flask was full. I know most people would've told me I was a jerk for not fueling the fire like I should have, but that is not how alcoholism works. Every drop is precious. I panhandled all day long just to buy bottom shelf liquor that nobody else in their right mind would drink. It is one step above being made in a bathtub and the hangover would make most logical people never want to touch it again, but logic gets tossed out the window as soon as you're sick. All you do is try to get rid of that sickness. For me, alcohol is the only thing that does it. I have found every excuse in the world to abuse it.
I sat in the dark alleyway, chugging away my despair and self-loathing like the street urchin that I am. Sympathy was never something I was really interested in, because I'm not sure I ever deserved any. The only thing I really did want was someone to make me feel like I was worth something again. It really is the only thing that would ever help me get clean. Without any reason to live, I had every reason to die.
It wasn't long before I had drank half of the cheap whiskey in my flask. I had already drank a fifth, so I was getting pretty close to a fifth and a pint for the day. Most days, I would try to take it easy, but then I remembered a face that I wanted to forget very badly. I never expect hallucinations, but when they do happen, I have only one coping method.
Tears ran down my cheeks and I wiped them away with my dirty scarf. Nobody ever saw me cry and I didn't even like to admit to myself when I did. My masculinity was one of the only things that I had left. Well, it was one of the things that I like to pretend that I still had left. I wasn't being much a man by running away from my problems in alleyways, drinking booze until I couldn't think straight, but that wasn't something I wanted to think much about. Who wants to look their flaws dead in the eye? I don't think that anyone does. I'm no different.
Chapter 2 – A Hopeless Mission
I don't really remember drinking as much as I did, but I must have because the next thing that I remember was waking up in a cop car. I hated being hauled off by the police. It seemed to happen more and more often, though. As much as I wanted to think I was getting better, my problem was only getting worse. The cops liked to remind me of that every time they picked me up and hauled me off to whatever goddamn place would clean me up just to put me on the streets again. It was an ongoing cycle.
The police cruiser pulled up to the curb in front of the downtown mission and I rolled my eyes. I hated the mission. They forced food down my throat, gave me a hot shower, got my hopes up, and then sent me right back to the hell from which I came. They say that they want to help, but I don't think that's help. Sometimes, people do things for others just to feel good about themselves. That is really what the mission was all about. Those people didn't care about me. They cared about their image. Helping homeless people every day sounds pretty heroic. They
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