Alcohol

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The basement is quite the view, but not in any way that anyone would expect.

You might think this is where enemies suffer until they die, but that’s not the case. They have another base, another cell reserved for the wretched souls they intend to break.

Vale shudders at the thought. If she had to hear their voices screaming in agony while they were tortured, she wouldn’t be able to bear it. The heaviness in her heart already feels like a lead weight, and the thought of their pain only amplifies her own.

She walks up to the bar table, her hand trembling slightly as she grabs a bottle of beer. With a quick twist, she opens it and shoves it down her throat, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Just... one more,” she whispers to herself, as if that small act could magically erase the pain.

She sinks into a chair, wiping her tears with the back of her hand before gulping down another shot. The cold liquid burns as it goes down, and she chokes out a laugh, half-hearted and bitter.

“What am I doing?” she mutters, her voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t know how many bottles she’s downed; it feels like an eternity of drowning in her own sorrow.

“Forget it all,” she thinks desperately, reaching for another bottle of wine.

Stumbling slightly, she tries to make her way to the couch, each step a battle against her overwhelming grief. Sometimes, she cries; other times, laughter erupts from her lips, harsh and mocking as the memories crash over her like waves.

Vale shoves the drink down her throat, not caring that some of it spills on her face and clothes, a reminder of the chaos that swirls within. Each swallow feels like a desperate attempt to numb the ache in her heart, but it lingers, relentless and unyielding.

“It’s all your fault, Keith,” she mutters, her voice thick with anger and grief. “If you hadn’t given the job to that other woman, I wouldn’t have gone home to find Kayden cheating on me.”

A voice in her head retorts, cold and logical, “But if he hadn’t dismissed you, you would never have known.”

“Shut up!” she screams, her voice echoing in the dim space. She hurls the empty bottle at the wall, the sound of shattering glass mirroring the fragments of her heart.

The anger surges through her, and she stands up, balling her fists as she sways toward the punching bag, which hangs ominously in the corner. Her reflection in the dim light reveals a wreck of a woman, heartbroken and disheveled. It’s disheartening to see herself like this.

The vision of Kayden and the other woman plays in her mind, taunting her. “Friends holding a party, my ass!” she hiccups, laughing bitterly before attempting to punch the bag. The effort is pathetic; her energy drains quickly, and she stops, panting heavily.

Feeling dissatisfied, she strides over to one of the chairs, her frustration boiling over. With a fierce shout, she grabs it and hurls it against the wall. The loud crash reverberates, and she grabs another chair, breaking a table in her rage. Pieces of furniture scatter across the floor, the chaos mirroring her internal turmoil.

“Damn him! How dare he cheat on me?” she yells, her voice raw. “He knows I love him with all my heart! He knows it!”

The banging outside the basement door elicits a twisted laugh from her. “Like they can even get in here!” she mocks, her drunken bravado shining through. She remembers seeing the key on the bar counter earlier. “Even if they break down the door, they’d have to cuff me if they want me to calm down,” she muses, her delusional brain thinking she could take them all on.

The question gnaws at her: can they cuff her without getting their lips busted? The thought makes her laugh, a hollow sound that echoes in the dark. She stands tall, fueled by her rage, ready to unleash it on whoever dares to enter.

Vale stumbles back to the bar and grabs a bottle of vodka, its label blurring in her vision. As she unscrews the lid, the door bursts open.

Just as she’s about to pour the liquor down her throat, a strong, muscled hand grabs her arm, wrenching the bottle away from her grip.

“Let go of me!” she screams, her voice slurred and filled with defiance. She tries to yank her hand free, landing a punch that feels more like a gentle tap against the chest of the person before her.

“Damn!” she exclaims, realizing she can’t even see who she’s hitting. “Let me scratch your face!” Her drunken giggles mix with the tension in the air.

A few chuckles echo from the group behind her, and that only fuels her irritation. “Who are you? Show yourselves!” she demands, swaying slightly as she tries to regain her balance.

Keith stands before her, an amused yet concerned look on his face. He glances at the mess surrounding them—the floor littered with shattered bottles, pools of alcohol, and upturned furniture. “Shit, Vale,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head at the chaos.

The sight of her flushed cheeks, hair in disarray, and drenched clothes sticking to her body is striking. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time,” he observes, unable to suppress a small smile.

“Damn, women and their anger issues!” he thinks, half-exasperated, half-amused.

But as Vale lunges again to grab the bottle from his hand, she sways precariously and falls against him. “Hey! Hey! Wake up!” he says, shaking her gently, but her eyes flutter shut, lost to the drunken haze.

With a resigned sigh, Keith scoops her up, carrying her bridal style. He strides out of the basement, leaving his friends to deal with the mess she’d made. “I’ll take care of her,” he mutters, determined to keep her safe.

Once in his room, he lays her gently on the bed, removing her boots and jacket. He hesitates for a moment, his heart racing, but the urge to protect her outweighs everything else. He turns away, giving her privacy as he pulls the duvet over her.

“Thank god I didn’t turn on the lights,” he thinks, feeling a rush of guilt wash over him. If he saw her like this—vulnerable and exposed—he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

He throws her clothes into the dirty laundry basket, the fabric feeling like a weight on his conscience. Afterward, he heads to the bathroom, wetting a small towel with warm water. He returns to her side and wipes her face softly, careful not to disturb her rest.

Keith’s heart aches as he watches her sleep, her expression peaceful despite the chaos she’d just unleashed. He knows he should give her space, so he decides to sleep on the couch, mentally preparing himself to avoid any accidental contact.

“God knows I can’t risk her trying to kill me tomorrow,” he chuckles softly, planting a gentle kiss on Vale’s forehead before retreating to the couch. As he settles in, he can’t shake the feeling that this night has changed everything.

With that thought lingering in his mind, he drifts off to sleep, hoping for a better tomorrow.

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