Scared To Death // Ville Valo

8. Buried Alive By Love

Ville opened his eyes, a headache making itself adamant the moment things came into focus.

He sat up, running a hand through his messy hair and sighing as he looked around at the room. He had fallen asleep on the couch again, surrounded by empty alcohol bottles.

He groaned in frustration.

What on earth was wrong with him? He couldn't stay sober for more than a month.

He heard a knock at the door, and looked up, wincing as his head throbbed.

He didn't really feel like answering the door, but he had a feeling he would know who it was.

He stood, nearly falling as his head began to spin. He shook it off, then made his way over to the door, running his hands through his curly hair in an attempt to tame it.

He unlocked the deadbolts on the door, opening it a bit and peeking out.

He smiled a little, seeing that it was in fact his good friend, who came to check on him every couple of days to make sure he was doing okay.

He then sighed, remembering that he had relapsed again. Bam wouldn't exactly be mad at him, but not happy either.

"Bam.." he said, his voice slightly scratchy.

Bam furrowed his eyebrows. "Did you just wake up?" He asked. "It's already past noon.."

"Is it?" Ville Asked, leaning on the doorframe, hoping that Bam wouldn't want to go inside. "I hadn't noticed."

"What happened to being Mr. Early bird?" Bam Asked.

Ville bit his lip. "Well," he said, trying to come up with a reason why he'd be waking up so late.

Typically he could've come up with something fairly quickly, but with the alcohol still in his bloodstream, and everything he had on his mind, he wasn't quite as quick witted as usual.

Bam could tell that something was up with Ville. At this point, he could very easily read him, since they had been friends for so long.

"Ville...you didn't.." he said, sighing.

Ville looked down a bit, and Bam pushed past him, making his way into the house.

He looked around, a look of disappointment on his face.

Ville still stood in the doorway, not wanting to see his friend's reaction to what he had done.

"Why?" Bam asked, staring at the pile of alcohol bottles on the coffee table.

"I don't know.." Ville mumbled.

"How long had you been sober?" He asked, looking up at Ville. "Two weeks? A month?"

"Something like that."

Bam sighed. "Ville, you need to try harder." He said. "Have you thought about rehab?"

Ville looked up at Bam, shaking his head. "No." He said.

"Why not?"

"I have things to do." He said, walking over to Bam. "I can't take off an entire year."

"If it's the only thing that'll help you.." Bam started.

"I'm fine." Ville Said, his deep voice making it sound as if he was growling.

"Ville, you're clearly not." Bam Said, motioning around at the room. "You're sick. You need help."

"I don't want help." Ville mumbled, looking down at the floor.

Bam swallowed. "I only want what's best for you."

Ville didn't say anything more, and only stared at the floor, his eyes slightly glazed over. Bam sighed, looking down.

"I guess I'll leave." He said.

He walked over to the door, and when Ville heard it shut, he felt tears begin to fill his eyes. He angrily blinked them away, looking up at the mess on the coffee table.

He stomped over, growling as he grabbed a bottle and threw it at the wall, shattering it into hundreds of pieces.

After watching the shards of glass fall to the ground, he sat down, the tears coming back.

He buried his face in his hands, taking a deep breath to compose himself.

Bam was right.

He needed help.