I stretched my last few jars as far as I could, thinning down the hooch until it was more water than alcohol. It was enough to keep me going. But the day still came, the day of the first snowfall of the season. I ran my tongue around my mason jar, desperately trying to lick up any remaining high I could. But it was useless. It was gone. Dried up, like my hope, my good luck, and any chance I had with Savannah. The pain of reality was already stalking me, taking over control of my body now that the alcohol was no longer king.

“For fuck’s sake,” I cursed, kicking over the dining room chair that held my small workshop. The leg was ancient, and shattered beneath my foot, splinters spraying every which way. The bowls and cups that served as my distillery fell to the floor, smashing on impact. “Fuck it all. Fuck this fucking shit. Fuck!”

I slammed my fist into the concrete wall, and swore as nothing but a bit of dust crumbled away. My knuckles swelled immediately, blood dripping from the torn skin. I hated this house. I hated everything in it.

I licked the blood off, cradled my injured hand to my chest and trudged up the stairs. Thankfully, I had come down to the basement early. Nobody witnessed my meltdown and I was able to escape to my room with no interventions, or questions about what had happened to my hand.

I lay on my bed, staring up at the textured ceiling. This was it then. This was the beginning of the end.

I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or rage. Sleeping was also a good option. Destroying everything in my room was tempting, but not as easy to hide if Savannah showed up. I didn’t want her to see my downfall. She didn’t deserve the trauma.

Savannah was the first good thing to come into my life since before my parents had died. The first pure good thing. Because her goodness was real, and it made me want to be good, too–a lost fucking cause now. She smiled at me like I was the only person who mattered on this planet, even if the room was filled with other people. Even though she fucked like nobody I had ever met before. If I could spend the rest of my life making Savannah moan and come, I’d die a happy man.

In spite of everything, Savannah never gave up hope. Not even when the situation looked impossible to overcome, dark in all aspects. We had spent how long in this house with no way out, and had long given up the chance of escape. But not Savannah. That woman spent every waking moment pouring over Felix’s old books, searching for something to help us. When Felix tried to talk her out of it, she would merely snap at him and leave the room.