Drowning In Alcohol

Loud noises were filling the air and Minho could faintly recognize the sound of someone typing on a computer, people talking in ushered voices and a phone ringing somewhere in the building.

He didn’t have to open his eyes to know where he was.

The distinct smell of pee and the pain in his jaw were telling it all –he was once again at the police station and he didn’t need to remember the evening before to know he had drank more than he could take and had probably been arrested for a bar fight.

Just like almost every night…

It was pitiful. And yet Minho couldn’t do a thing about it but repeat his mistakes again and again –because nothing else could take the pain away. It was like a bleeding hole had appeared where his heart was supposed to be.

And no amount of drugs could ease that, nothing could dull the pain. Nothing but alcohol.

Minho had never stood a chance against the pain. It had never been something he had been able to bear easily, unlike most of the people he knew. They were all hiding their pain behind their smiles, pretending they were fine and nothing could reach them.

But Minho wasn’t like that. He couldn’t hide it, couldn’t live with it. He couldn’t live with the constant reminder of what his life used to be.

Back when he wasn’t addicted to the sweet bite of alcohol. Back when he wasn’t alone. Back when Key was still by his side, back when nothing was wrong.

Oh how much he wished to go back to those times, to be held into those arms again and have sweet words whispered in his ear.

He wanted it all back.

The way Kibum used to be curled up against him when he would wake up was all too vivid in his mind –and it was only making it harder to wake up on the hard bench of his cell, feeling cold and hungry. And then Kibum would hum contently, nuzzling closer to him before opening his eyes and smiling lazily to him, the most perfect sight. He would greet him with his voice still thick of sleep.

But right now the only thing that made him open his eyes was the sound of a key turning in a lock and the door of his cell opening.

There he was, that man again. A bit shorter than Minho, a bright smile on his lips no matter how awful his day had probably been and just like always he gave the younger a compassionate smile –he knew the reason behind Minho’s heavy drinking and didn’t judge him.

They didn’t talk as Minho stood up and was handed his things back before being allowed out. A small nod was the only sign of recognition Minho gave as he was about to leave.

In another world, he would have let the man comfort him and make him forget about Key.

But this was his reality, the one he couldn’t escape. Nothing he could do was allowing him to forget about Kibum for a second.

His apartment was the worst –Kibum’s make-up was still next to the sink of the bathroom, his clothes still hanging in the wardrobe. His numerous pairs of shoes were taking the entire place in the entrance and pictures of him smiling along with Minho were everywhere. Even his scent was still lingering in the air.

And every time it was suffocating Minho, making him breathless until he couldn’t take it anymore and was running away, running to the first bar he was coming across. Alcohol was making it better, alcohol was offering him oblivion.

Yet every wake-up call was harder after that. It was as if a part of him was dying every time with the realization that this was still his reality, that nothing he could do would bring Kibum back. There was no escape.

It didn’t stop him from drinking though.

Pain was too much for him to bear, it was too hard to face reality. He’d rather forget, pretend Kibum wasn’t dead, pretend he was just one step away, ready to turn around at the call of his name and give him that dazzling smile of his.

He was weak.

But who wouldn’t be ? When the one you spent years with, the one you picture spending the rest of your life with is suddenly taken away from you ? How could he ever get over it ?

It was like life had stopped with Kibum’s death, it was like the clock had stopped ticking. It didn’t matter that Minho could see people still running around, time didn’t have an impact on him anymore. He was just an empty shell.

Kibum’s death had taken everything away from him –and it had left nothing but the pain, the excruciating pain of being left behind, of being alone again.

And all Minho could do was run away, drowning his sorrow and pain in alcohol for a moment of relief. Not to f