Dying of Thirst

He moved solemnly down the street, slowly, unsteadily, trying his best not to tip over.
To the random passer-by it would seem like he was another guy who had one too many cups at the bar, yet in fact he was the exact opposite. He was a guy who had in fact had no cups nor been in a bar for seven years, and he was suffering greatly from it.

John regularly watched documentaries, saw how the post addicts say it gets easier over time. How soon he'd even forget about how long it's been or how much time has passed, they sold the idea to him that he could do it... Never before has he been so scammed.
He knows exactly how many months it's been, and he has suffered every day of it. In fact, his symptoms seemed to be getting worse.

He was always thirsty, even after drinking water, he thirsted for something stronger, something harder, something more.
The thirst was so strong some days that it left him gasping for air, and on some nights he just laid there, staring at his ceiling, begging for sleep.
Yet those were the easier crashouts, the ones where he was at least consoled by the fact he faced his demons alone.
He didn't care much about crying and wailing on days nobody could see what he truly feared was a day when his thirst would catch up to him in public, when he was still outside with friends.
He prayed against such a day, he dreaded the idea of such a day, and unfortunately for him, that day was today.

It was meant to be just a normal evening coming back from the office. Simple, ordinary and uneventful.
Not until he was about to clock out was he told that it was the Manager's birthday and they wanted to go out to celebrate.
John knew what "go out to celebrate" transcribes to when said by a bunch of office business workers on a Friday evening, so he respectfully declined the invitation. Trying to pass a made up story of a bad stomach.

Yet his work buddies insisted, one even going out of the way to invite the manager early and say they would all go to the bar together instead of setting things up and leading him to it.
John found himself pushed, pulled and pretty much dragged to the shop. He had realized that he couldn't avoid it, so it's best to mentally prepare himself for it. He'd take it as a test, he would see the drinks, he would smell it, but he wouldn't taste it.
With that conviction, he took part in the celebration and he actually survived the night, or at least almost survived it.
Managing to tear himself away before he grabbed a bottle and drowned 7 months of abstinence away from it.

As he staggered away from the bar, he tried to keep his head down. He didn't want anybody looking at his face. Somehow the alcohol smell had rubbed off on his clothes, maybe one of the lads spilled some on him.
He smelled it and the thirst grew stronger, he wanted to walk faster but the thirst and pain made everything dizzier. Then he dropped.
Every cell in his body was crying out for him to turn back and get a bottle of alcohol, any alcohol.
His own body had rebelled against him.

John laid there on the floor a heap, cradling himself and trying to breathe slowly, yet every breath drew in the alcohol from his coat once again.
People were staring now, some stopped concerned while others just looked as they walked by. His worst fears had come to pass. People had seen him succumb to his weakness.
He didn't know how long he stayed there, didn't know how long he cried. It must have been hours before he heard a voice.
"John? John is that you." It was a voice he hadn't heard in 7 months, not since that incident.
He remembered as the slap resounded across the room. A lashing out as he was in a drunken stupor.
Striking his fiance on her cheek which sent her tumbling to the floor.

She had advised, warned and pleased against his drinking habits before, after that incident immediately the wedding and courtship was called off.
He didn't blame her, so he decided to change.
She was the reason he stopped drinking, the reason why he's been dry for seven months and she was the one person he didn't want to see. Not her, not now, not like this.

"Lisa? Do you know him?" Another voice asked her, a male.
Immediately, John's body tensed up. He hadn't yet looked at Lisa, so she couldn't see the tears, nor the face of anguish he had one at the sound of another man's voice.
Immediately he stood up and walked briskly, leaving the two of them.
"John!?..." Lisa asked again, but he was running now. He ran straight and immediately dived into his apartment building and went straight up to his room.
While sitting on his bed, his alcohol scented clothes in the wash, John thought about Lisa, thought about what she might be into now, thought who that male voice might've been, maybe her brother or cousin?
In actuality he thought about a lot of things, from how the party went to if any of his neighbors saw and recognized him crying on the streets.
Yet the one thing he didn't question himself on was why he ran from Lisa. He didn't want her to come back, he didn't want to know where she was so he wouldn't go to her.
His thoughts were clear:

He was dying of thirst, yet it was death he was willing to go through alone.

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