(Content warning for drinking, self-harm talk, rationalizing some irrational behavior, and general self loathing. Summary at end of chapter for those that need it)
The hallway was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. That's why Jason was being especially careful to muffle his footsteps as he walked down it, in socks and on tip-toes. The rain outside helped, drowning any unnatural sound out in a steady static.
He had snuck around his house at night before, but he wasn't sure if his parents were asleep yet, so he was being as careful as possible to not make any noise. Also, those damn chihuahuas would yap the whole neighborhood awake if they heard anyone coming toward them, and Jason especially did not need that now.
He walked by his parent's room, and didn't see any lights on or hear any signs of life. Maybe his dad was reading with the desk lamp, but they were most likely asleep. That meant he had free rein of the hallway, and the liquor cabinet smack in the middle of it.
Jason had done this enough times where he had a method to not get caught, and he's an expert at downplaying his own actions to himself, but it still left him a bit jittery. He opened the cabinet door, careful not to let anything creak.
It didn't.
He grabbed a bottle, lifting it carefully up and over so the glass wouldn't clang on any others. He opened it, and took a swig.
The drink (Bourbon? Whiskey? Something brown, he didn't know the name) coated the inside of his mouth before he swallowed. It wasn't a terrible taste, but it burned the same way it did going down his throat. He really needed to learn how to take shots for real, instead of drinking straight liquor like juice.
Practice makes perfect, he thought to himself, and swallowed a laugh.
He screwed the bottle shut and put it back, grabbed a second one, and repeated the process.
Then a third.
That should be enough. Now, he could go back to his room and watch Family Guy highlights or King of the Hill in his room while he waited for the voice in the back of his head to shut off.
Jason was well aware that this was an irresponsible and scummy thing to do. Underaged drinking was one thing, but stealing from your own parents? That's two broken laws, at least.
He didn't really care, though. Rule-breaking didn't bother him anymore. He wasn't a Forest Scout, and hadn't been for a couple years now. No one expected him to keep up with the moral code. He wasn't the perfect little boy he used to be, nor did he want to be. This was just an extension of his growing rebellious streak that all teenagers had. This was normal.
Also, it was a weekend. His parents drank on weekends, therefore he could as well without it being completely socially unacceptable.
He snuck back down the hallway and into his room and did exactly what he had planned. Animated sitcoms were incredibly funny to him when drunk. It was going to be a good night.
He snuck back into the hall for another round, once he felt the first one begin to hit, his brain turning off its background programs and his head getting heavy. He took another few sips from a few different bottles. He drank their Grey Goose this time, even though it tasted like hand sanitizer. He suppressed a gag, but he didn't need to. His parents were definitely asleep now, or he was tipsy enough not to care if he woke them up. The rain had stopped, and anything conscious and not completely deaf could hear him stomping around the house. But everything else was asleep.
You're supposed to be asleep, too, he reminded himself. They trust you to do that much, even if they shouldn't.
He went to the kitchen to wash his mouth out. The voice in his head lecturing him hadn't turned off, but it was muted by the sound of the water.
Jason had turned off his phone and the cartoons, and he was trying to fall asleep, but blue light exposure, nausea and the deafening silence wasn't letting him. His rebellion and butchered sense of humor had devolved into ears full of static and facial numbness. Sitting up had devolved into falling straight forward if he let himself, and he was face down in his pillow trying not to make the room tilt. He could still walk straight if needed, in some hypothetical scenario where a cop broke into his house and decided that he'd get shot if he couldn't pass a sobriety test. Maybe he'd fall over on purpose. He wouldn't have to go to work tomorrow if he was dead.
Fuck, he had work tomorrow. It was a later shift and he could sleep in, but even thinking about standing up made him sick. He'll be well enough in the morning for it, though. It's not like he would be terribly hungover, unless he went for a third round. Which he might, if he didn't fall asleep soon.
Wow.
He was really pathetic, wasn't he? He was stealing from his parent's liquor cabinet to get drunk by himself in the middle of the night. He's going behind their back, breaking their trust just to be a drunk degenerate. This is the reason they ignored him, acted like they didn't care, because they knew what a piece of shit their kid was. They shouldn't care. He wasn't their perfect little boy that he used to be. He was acting like the worst, most pathetic and undeserving person that has ever existed. Why did he think the rules didn't apply to him anymore? Was he really that full of himself? He was still a hypocritical asshole that nobody wanted to be around, he never grew out of that. Jesus, he was fucking terrible. He should go back down to the kitchen and grab a knife and-
"No," Jason said aloud. His soft, languid words echoed in the silent room. "Can't do that."
His self-destruction quota had a workaround. He couldn't hurt himself– physically, intentionally– while he was drunk, because that meant drinking was bad for him, and then he'll have to stop. Then he won't have a reason to not hurt himself, so he will. Therefore, drinking was the better option. There was a logical fallacy in there somewhere, but he was still alive, so he didn't feel the need to change it.
Internal thoughts didn't count. They stayed in his head, and only showed on him if he let them. His barely lucid mind could run wild as long as he didn't do anything about it. He could go over his own faults and insults until he eventually fell asleep. That's what usually happened on nights like this.
He's well aware that this is fucked up, but once again, he was alive. It couldn't be that bad.
So he didn't go down the hall, and he stayed on his bed, in his dark room. He forced himself to close his eyes, ignoring the tilt of the world. He let the thoughts roaring in his ears lull him into a quieter sleep.
(Summary: Jason sneaks into his parents liquor cabinet, gets drunk and watches cartoons. He rationalizes this by believing he can't do two 'bad things' at once, and this is the lesser of two evils. He ends up feeling bad about it anyway, and goes to bed drunk and sick of himself.)