(Freshman year of college)

My night has been filled with shot after shot. Empty glass after empty glass. I knock back one after another as the sound of the music vibrates inside my chest. With each scorching swallow of Bacardi, tequila, Jäger, I feel more at ease, letting all my worries and the fact that I haven’t checked my insulin slowly erase from my mind. My tongue becomes numb. My lips. My body. My heart. My mind. It’s a fucking beautiful state of mind to be in and I wish I could never leave it—most days I don’t.

After I lose count of how many shots I’ve downed and how many asses I’ve had grind up against me, I ditch the club with the woman I’ve been dancing with for the last two songs, debating what to do—fuck, wander around, go find a place to gamble. There’s a familiar burn inside my chest as I drown in a sea of alcohol, where nothing bothers me. I relax and breathe the cool night air and just exist without all the weight of my past inside me. I’ve been drinking more frequently, especially since my past has been forcing its way into my life again. Stuff’s been happening with my sister, Amy, specifically questions about her suicide that happened eight years ago. I thought it’d been put to rest, but it was brought up a month or so ago, questions mainly about what really drove her to throw herself off the roof that night. Plus, on top of it, my dad’s decided he wants to become a huge part of my life again, after being pretty much absent since I was five. It’s bullshit and I don’t want to think about it or deal with it. I just want to get trashed, fuck as many women as I can, and live my life the way that I want to.

I lose track of how much time has gone but somewhere along the lines I stop walking and end up with my back against the tree. I’m not aware of too much going on but there are three things I’m sure of: (a) It’s nighttime, since I can see the stars, (b) I feel very relaxed and in control at the moment, and (c) there’s a blonde kneeling down in front of me with her mouth on my cock.