2 “Bourbon On A Rainy Night”

Two

Florence lowered her head, her shoulders trembling as silent tears streamed down her face. Desperate for a moment of respite, she reached up to remove her hearing aid from her right ear. The world immediately grew quieter, offering a brief reprieve from the cacophony of her thoughts and emotions.

Every year, as the anniversary of her parents’ and older brother’s passing approached, Florence would find solace in the familiar embrace of alcohol. It had become a ritual, a bittersweet tradition that marked the occasion. Though she had begun drinking at a young age at sixteen, it was in these moments of grief that the habit truly took hold. The drink offered a temporary escape from the pain, a way to numb the ache in her heart. It was her attempt to cope, to reconcile herself with the harsh reality of their loss. 

In the intoxicating haze of alcohol, she could pretend that everything was normal, that her parents were still by her side, that her older brother Frederick would still find her annoying, and that she was okay even if she was far from that. She was barely hanging on a thread with her life for the past years now.

Florence was not only alone and lonely, but she was also burdened by a crushing debt. Her father’s gambling addiction before he died had left a devastating financial legacy, and she was now responsible for paying off his debts from the loan sharks that she had been paying for years now. The weight of this financial burden, coupled with the student loans she was also obligated to repay, was overwhelming. She felt trapped, drowning in a sea of debt, with no clear path to financial freedom. The constant stress and anxiety of financial insecurity had taken a toll on her emotional well-being, leaving her feeling isolated and alone.

However, she hated the morning after she would drink, since the relief would be fleeting and the reality would sink in stronger and faster than the last time. As the effects of the alcohol wore off in the morning, the weight of her grief would return, heavier than ever. The drink was not a solution, but merely a temporary distraction from the pain but she knew that she was never going to heal from the kind of loss she could never bear.

Florence’s eyes filled with tears, which she hastily wiped away with the back of her hand. She reached for her glass, taking another long, deep swig of the bourbon. It was the fourth glass she had consumed that night, and the alcohol was beginning to take its toll. She had come to the bar with a clear purpose: to escape, to numb the pain that gnawed at her. And the liquor was doing its job, albeit temporarily. 

But right now, the world seemed to blur, the edges softening as the alcohol clouded her senses as she lazily put on her hearing air on her right ear. She was drunk, undeniably drunk, but it was a state of intoxication that she had sought out, a deliberate attempt to drown her sorrows. 

Florence was still grappling with the emotional pain of her family’s death anniversary while worrying about the debts needed to be paid and of course the offer. The loss of her loved ones was a heavy burden to bear, and the grief was still raw and painful but she had so much on her plate that she just wanted to stop and not move.

Despite her emotional turmoil, she was also facing another challenge: an upcoming meeting with Doctor Heath Godric to discuss their marriage contract. The prospect of this meeting filled her with a mix of dread and uncertainty. The thought of discussing such a serious matter, especially in the midst of her grief, was overwhelming.

Florence’s frustration and despair reached a boiling point. She let out a raw cry of anguish, her sobs were filled with a mixture of anger and sadness. 

Florence’s mind raced, filled with confusion and self-doubt. “Who am I?” she wondered, her thoughts a jumbled mess of emotions. She was sobbing uncontrollably, her tears a testament to the depth of her despair. As she calmed down, she could not help but ask herself mentally, “Why did I have to reach this point in my life where I am losing my sense of humanity and agreeing to discuss things with Heath Godric?” The question was a reflection of her inner turmoil, a questioning of her own choices and the path she was on.

Her sobs were loud, she found herself disgusting for even reaching this point in her life. Her sobs, seemingly loud, echoed through the streets filled with people and cars. She sank to her knees, her body was trembling with emotion, in the same manner that her mind was filled with a lot of thoughts filled with worry and negativity. Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision as her heart ached and her head was hurting more than it ever had. 

She was really intoxicated, her judgment clouded by alcohol, but her pain was real, her suffering genuine. As she wept openly, she became a spectacle, a source of amusement for the passersby who watched her from a distance, their laughter a cruel reminder of her isolation and despair.

No one knew what she had been going through. No one would even care.

As the rain began to fall in torrents, people scrambled to find shelter, seeking refuge under nearby sheds. Florence, her head pulled up to the ceiling, and her eyes tightly closed, remained motionless. She allowed the raindrops to fall gently upon her face, washing away her tears and cooling her skin. The sensation of the rain on her face was both soothing and cleansing, providing a momentary respite from her emotional turmoil.

She remained knelt and seated on the ground, her body trembling with sobs. The dizziness that had plagued her earlier had not subsided, making it difficult to stand. As the rain continued to pour, she was surprised to discover that she was no longer getting wet. She slowly opened her eyes, her vision blurred by tears, and saw that a large umbrella was being held over her. The rain, which had been more relentless, now seemed to be falling around her, leaving her dry and protected.

A kind stranger, noticing her plight and the hearing aid on her right ear, had extended his umbrella to shield her from the relentless downpour. He squatted down beside her, his concern evident in his voice as he asked, “You do not look good. Are you alright, miss?” His words were a gentle inquiry amidst the chaos of the storm. His presence was a comforting one, a beacon of hope in the midst of her despair.

The stranger’s question, simple yet sincere, struck a chord within Florence. It was a question she hadn’t heard in a long time, a question that acknowledged her as a person, that recognized her pain and suffering. The weight of her emotions, bottled up for so long, finally gave way. She broke down, her sobs echoing through the rain-soaked streets. Her tears flowed freely, a release of the pent-up anguish that had been consuming her. She shook her head, unable to find the words to express the depth of her despair.