Chapter Eleven

“I'm a fucking idiot.”

The truck chugged along as Levi maneuvered the wheel. He mindlessly sped away from Josiah's house, attempting to put the awful encounter as far behind him as possible. There was no peace or serenity here. He was fully submerged into his resentments, retaining every little detail to regurgitate later to whoever would listen.

As he searched the streets for an answer, he came upon one of his old haunts. It was second nature to pull into the parking lot. Before he knew it, the truck was locked and his keys were firmly in his grip as he approached the familiar metal door. A blinking red sign above the entrance indicated they were open. At least he might find something familiar here.

Though his phone had been buzzing all day in his back pocket, he hadn't bothered with it. Nothing could break him out of his great daze, the soft tunnel of focus that refused to hold any truth in mind. He was choosing to wear his rose-colored specks today. That was fine. He could always deal with the consequences later.

When he approached the bar, he waved for a beer and sank it back nearly as quick as it had touched the counter. He waved for another and flipped it up into the air, determined to swallow as much of it as he could. When he felt the familiar sting of numbness edging in, he set the bottle on the counter and belched as he drew out his wallet. He dropped his bills on the counter and ordered another, finally taking a seat in the stool at the bar.

“Somebody is thirsty,” the bartender commented. He was short and thin, a bit wiry, but looked like he could hold his own if prompted. “Don't think I've seen you before either.”

“I'm not a regular.”

“Do you need a shot to wash that down?”

Levi shrugged. “Why not?”

“Pick your poison.”

As Levi regarded the bottles lining the back of the bar, his head felt like it was spinning. Maybe he should take it easy. If he was going to give up this easy, he should at least take some sort of precaution.

“Whatever,” he grumbled. “Just pass me a shot.”

“I think I know that attitude a little too well. Love troubles?” The bartender plucked a bottle of vodka from beneath the counter and filled a shot glass. When he slid it across the counter, he held up his hand to deny the bill that Levi was holding. “Trust me, you need it.”

Actually, I don't, Levi thought. But I'm doing it anyway.

“Thanks.”

He downed it just as quickly as his beer, grimacing against the burn it left in his throat.

“So, unload yourself,” the bartender offered.

Levi shook his head. “Actually, I'd rather take a beer to-go.”

“Well, I can't do that, but there is a gas station just up the road.”

“What's today?”

“Saturday.”

“That's just perfect.” Levi dropped a twenty on the counter and mumbled for the bartender to keep the change. Just as soon as he was outside, he felt the familiar spins take hold again. He glanced up at the sky. It wasn't even evening yet. The sun was still blazing bright with a few clouds dancing around it, penetrating his skull that was about to start pounding.

He held his hands out in front of him and watched them shake. Great, now he had the damn shakes. If he was going to make it home, he better do it now before he became too incapacitated. He eyed the road and minded the other cars, trying to locate any cops. As he climbed behind the wheel of his car, his heart picked up a beat.

To quell it, he slammed his keys into the ignition and didn't mind the nagging voice begging for him to call someone. His eyes met his rearview mirror and he hit the brakes, staring himself down for a second.

“It's too late for a call,” he told himself. “We're going home.”

And with that, he took off for the gas station.

It was a quick and easy task to procure beer. He had all his usual tools to mask his tipsy state—a few pieces of gum and a couple of eye drops—to help him get past the clerk. Once his items were safely tucked in the passenger seat, he headed straight for his house without another passing thought.

His only focus was being alone. As long as he could tuck himself away behind closed doors, he wouldn't have to deal with anyone that was going on anywhere else. No programs, no sponsors, no fellows, no horror sets or props or theater drama. And most certainly would there ever be a Josiah. Levi didn't need a love interest? This was it. He was all he ever needed.

The entire house was shrouded in silence. He walked inside to greet it happily, relishing the feeling of being utterly alone. No intrusion. He wouldn't have to worry about any roommates or pesky neighbors either. It was the perfect situation for a full-blown relapse. Not even God could penetrate his thoughts in this fortress.

As he set out his beer on the counter, he pulled his phone from his pocket. The amount of missed calls and frantic messages made him feel like a celebrity. But he didn't want any fame or glory with this attention. He really, truly just wanted to be by himself. There was no need for his phone or his job or even his fellows.

With this in mind, he opened a fresh message to Josiah and sent his poorly worded resignation. It was a much shorter version of quitting, a more concrete way of saying he was stepping down and never again returning. Though it sounded eloquent in his head, he still found his thumbs typing a bold, “Fuck you.”

But he couldn't retract it. He couldn't delete it or turn it into a clever joke. He was spiraling and this was part of that. He just had to accept it. When he set his phone on the coffee table, he watched as it buzzed across the wood. He had no intention of answering it again, not while he was in this zone. He raised the beer bottle to his lips and took a swig, letting it relax him back into the couch.

“Here we go.”

There was no turning back. Nothing could pull him from this position, not even God. He thought about how many times people in his fellowship spoke of spiritual encounters that had prompted them to quit. Part of him wished he could have an awesome one. He wanted lightning and thunder. He wanted the ceiling to open up to the divine pink clouds with celestial arms waiting to pull him into an ethereal hug.

But that wasn't going to happen. He was done praying and he was done with this way of living. If alcohol could provide the same relief of meditation, then he would just take it. It was that simple.

When his phone again buzzed, he knocked it from the table and listened to it shatter apart on the ground. It might have just knocked the battery out, but he didn't really care. He hoped maybe it had broken into a dozen pieces. Maybe now that it was demolished he could find a sense of peace.

He took another swig of his beer and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds erupting around him. Outside, cars chugged past. The buzzing sound of cicadas filled the spaces in between the houses, echoing off the wood. Music drifted in through the windows from passing cars. Underneath that, he noticed the loud chatter of those occupying the vehicles that sped on.

Everything sounded completely separate from him. It was a different world out there in that bright Charleston sunshine with the heat inserting itself wherever it could. In here, he felt the cold chill of the vent and the icy realization of what his actions would bring.

“Maybe I can't drink in peace.”

There was no other way to stop the garbled mess of thoughts bustling around. Each consequence resulting from every sip of beer would be worse as time passed. This didn't just affect him. It affected his friends, his journey, and everything in between. It would eventually affect his job. He knew he wouldn't be able to make it in this evening, and part of him didn't want to be bothered caring about it.

“Fuck it.”

Another swig sent him deeper into the couch if that were even possible. He let himself trickle down into the hole of depression, greeting the familiar demons as they appeared one by one: guilt, shame, and disregard. He nodded physically as though they were standing in his wake, waiting for him to make another decision so they could complete their tasks.

Levi sighed. He wouldn't be able to defeat these demons anymore. Coming back from a relapse was worse than the initial dive into sobriety. Many people didn't make it back because of its severity. He knew from watching it happen. And now he was going to experience all of it full throttle.

If he had learned anything in his three years, it was to accept the inevitable. Relapsing was inevitable. Resurfacing from this relapse would inevitably be too difficult. If he was able to get his head back above water, he would be gasping for air so hard that he would make his body weak. It was easier to just sit in it for some time first.

Yet the more he drank, the more he sank into the ocean of despair. There was no way to swim back up. He was running out of air in his lungs and his limbs were losing feeling. He was too tired to swim. He didn't want to anymore.

He was done.