His Purple Heart

23 - Beer and cravings

\ Trystan \

I left the room, needing to clear my head. The urge to drink was upon me. I stood in the hotel's hallway and took out my phone, hoping to find an AA meeting that was still in session somewhere close by. One meeting had ended about fifteen minutes ago and another was still going on, but it was an hours drive away. I wouldn't make it there on time.

I went down to the hotel bar and ordered a beer. Normally I would order something I didn't care for, like wine. Tonight, however, I wanted to drink so badly, my body trembled.

The bartender, a young man in his mid twenties handed me a properly chilled Budweiser, totally clueless about my plight. I sat down at the bar for ten minutes and couldn't bring myself to drink my beer. In that span of time, I'd read the label at least eight times.

"You look like you could use a friend," an alcohol laden breath spoke next to my ear.

I leaned back in my chair and looked over at a very attractive mature woman. She was all covered up, wearing a pair of black pants that flowed and opened up above her ankles and a long sleeve blouse that left her midriff exposed. Her breasts were voluptuous, looking like a burden for her small frame.

"Think you could be my friend for a minute?" I asked.

She dragged her chair closer to mine and sat down. She touched my shoulder, her hand lingering on my arm. "What's on your mind?"

"You ever been choked by a man before?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, you're into some kinky stuff."

"No, more like some dark stuff." Without thinking, I lifted the beer to my lips and took a large swig.

My tongue went into shock, twitching at the unrecognizable, but so familiar and incredibly invigorating taste of beer. My heart rate went up, my pulse rushing to distribute the alcohol through my system. Sweat broke out on my forehead and my hand trembled as I lowered the bottle.

Fuck! I had broken my sobriety and I didn't feel any better. Dammit!

I stood up so fast, the chair rattled, my arm knocking into the beer bottle. It spun and skidded to the edge, but the bartender was there in time to catch it. I made a dash for the elevator, feeling like the biggest betrayer ever.

"Hey, handsome. Slow down. We were just getting to the good stuff," Ms. Mature said.

"I'm sorry," I said hastily, "but I can't be here right now."

I opened the door to our room as quietly as possible and then rushed to the bathroom to wash out the taste of beer from my mouth. I did that a few times and then I drank water directly from the faucet, needing to dilute the gulp of beer I'd consume.

I came back out and stood at the foot of the bed watching Debra sleep. She had folded herself into the fetal position and I wanted to beat myself up for hurting her. Earlier she had distanced herself from me, giving me her back. It was a slap to the face, but nothing like the wretched twisting of my heart in my chest.

I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. I hadn't meant to hurt her. One minute I was back in Afghanistan sitting on the passenger side of the Humvee I usually drove and the next I found myself on top of Debra, my fingers locked around her neck in a death grip.