The Mistaken
“I don’t remember much of the passing of time except for the changing of the outside light to darkness then back again. Nick was right. The booze helped me breathe again for small increments of time. The pain and guilt always remained, but they were pushed to the outer reaches of my alcohol-soaked brain. I still felt it, but I could also ignore it, for a short time anyway.
When I was too drunk to drink anymore, I usually left Nick snoring on the sofa while I stumbled back to my room to say goodn...ight to Jillian. In bed, before I slipped into the welcome embrace of senselessness, I conjured up images of Jill that made me happy. I looked forward to seeing her and talking to her every night. Afterwards, my mind remained in limbo for only a few short hours until the effects of the liquor eased. Then the dreams would begin.
Sometimes they were simply pleasant memories that replayed in my head: the good times I shared with Jillian, our wedding, our honeymoon. But mostly I dreamed of the last time we spoke at length, our fight, Jill lying broken on the padded table with all those tubes and wires, a blood-soaked sheet enveloping her from head to toe.MoreLess
When I was too drunk to drink anymore, I usually left Nick snoring on the sofa while I stumbled back to my room to say goodn...ight to Jillian. In bed, before I slipped into the welcome embrace of senselessness, I conjured up images of Jill that made me happy. I looked forward to seeing her and talking to her every night. Afterwards, my mind remained in limbo for only a few short hours until the effects of the liquor eased. Then the dreams would begin.
Sometimes they were simply pleasant memories that replayed in my head: the good times I shared with Jillian, our wedding, our honeymoon. But mostly I dreamed of the last time we spoke at length, our fight, Jill lying broken on the padded table with all those tubes and wires, a blood-soaked sheet enveloping her from head to toe.MoreLess
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