Orel had awoken from a terrible nightmare. He'd dreamed of what hell was like. Of burning in agony as he passed by demons and burning people, all of them screaming and crying and reaching for him. He'd never had such a terrifying dream. As he sat up in his bed, not even the comfort of holding the bible to his chest could calm him down.
He wrapped his blanket around him tightly as he got out of bed and opened his bedroom door. The house sounded so quiet. He'd usually at least heard the sound of his little brother making noise, but tonight he was completely passed out. Deciding that a glass of milk would maybe help him go back to sleep, Orel held his blanket even tighter to himself before making his way through the hallway.
As he came close to his father's study, he noticed the faint glow of firelight, and the crackle of burning wood. Was his father still awake? It was pretty late, but he couldn't be sure. Very slowly, he rose his hand up and tapped his knuckles against the hard wood of the door.
"Dad?" he asked softly. He strained to hear his father's response, or even footsteps coming from behind the door. He waited a few seconds before knocking again.
"Dad?" the apprehension in his voice was almost tangible. He suddenly feared that his dad was sleeping, and would be upset that Orel woke him up. Before he had time to flee, he heard the floorboards creak just before the door opened. He squinted his eyes when the dim orange light washed over him, and before him stood his father.
"Orel?" Clayton asked, sounding exhausted.
"D-did I wake you, dad?" Orel asked, averting his eyes. Clayton was holding a glass of scotch that was half empty, but it probably wasn't his first glass of the night.
"No…" Clayton replied in a soft voice. He paused a moment before asking, "Why are you up, Orel?"
Orel was completely silent, keeping his eyes fixed to the floor. He felt a little embarrassed to say he'd had a nightmare, but he couldn't lie. "A bad dream," he answered.
Clayton sighed, in a way that made Orel feel like he was being a burden. He was used to hearing that sound. But to his surprise, instead of his father telling him to just go back to bed, he tugged on his blanket and pulled Orel into his study. Even after he'd shut the door, Orel stood like a deer caught in the headlights. He didn't know what to expect whenever he entered this room.
He watched as his dad walked over to the liquor cabinet and opened one of the cupboards, grabbing a glass identical to the one he was holding. He took a clear glass bottle and examined the label, and then poured its contents into the empty glass.
"Don't just stand there, son. Come over here."
Orel quickly did as he was told and walked to where Clayton was standing. The older man turned to face his son and held the spare glass in front of Orel. Orel stared at it in confusion before looking up at his dad.
"What is it?" he asked curiously. Clayton rolled his eyes.
"It's lemonade, Orel."
Orel raised his eyebrow in suspicion. He was about to comment how lemonade wasn't see-through, but his dad swiftly interrupted him.
"It's Vodka, Orel. Just drink it."
"Alcohol? But isn't it against the law for me to drink alcohol?" even as he said this, he obediently took the glass between his hands. "I'm just a kid."
Clayton sighed impatiently and walked over to his chair, sitting down and leaning back in a comfortable position.
"It's fine, Orel. Jesus drank alcohol. And I'm an adult who told you it's okay. You can drink alcohol if your parents say it's okay," Clayton spoke in an assuring manner. He took a few sips of his own drink before looking at Orel expectantly.
