1
It was 3am…
It was 3am and I was driving to my on again/off again boyfriend’s house for the umpteenth time this month. I know how it sounds, but I assure you, this is not a booty call. I wish it was a booty call. Anyone in their right mind would rather get called out of bed in the middle of the night for an orgasm than for the nonsense that I was about to deal with. What I’ve been dealing with, for half a year now.
Things didn’t start out this way, it’d all be so easy if I’d only gone on two dates with the guy before he started spiraling out of control. I could just ghost him and continue on with my life. I could wish him luck and let his friends pick up the pieces. But unfortunately for me, this wasn’t just some random guy. This was my guy, who I’ve known and loved for over a year now. Or at least, I thought I knew him.
The 20 minute drive to his place has become a familiar one and I found myself replaying the course of our relationship every time I drove it. Bryce and I had met through mutual friends at a party and the instant attraction we had towards one another was undeniable.
His jet black hair was the perfect backdrop for his glittering blue eyes and once I looked into them, I was his. We spent the entire night talking— only talking, which then led to the entire next night talking. And by the third night we did everything but talk. I quickly discovered that his ability to captivate an entire bar full of people was equally spellbinding in the bedroom.
I slipped out of my recollective trance as I pulled up to his bungalow and made my way to the front door. I didn’t bother knocking, just relying on the fact that he forgets to lock his door when he’s like this.
“Bryce?” I call when I see the empty living room. A sudden crash emitted from the kitchen and Bryce came stumbling out.
“Molly! Hey, you made it!” He slurs as he comes over to me with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. “You’re just in time for the party!”
“Doesn’t look like much of a party Bryce,” I say as I shrug and take in the vacant room. “There’s nobody here.”
He drops the bottle on the carpet and wraps his arms around me and mumbles in my ear, “No, this is a special private party, just me and a very gorgeous—”
“Bryce.”
“Sexy—”
“Bryce!”
His hands slide to my hips and kisses me. I know I’ll hate myself later for it, but I can’t help it and kiss him back. This was a guy who was used to getting what he wanted and what he had wanted, then and now, was me. The fact that I had somehow been able to hold the interest of this charismatic force made me feel special.
That special feeling was one I’ve always held onto, treasuring it like a glowing flame that represented our relationship. And I had done everything I could to protect it and make sure it didn’t get blown out.
Bryce moved his hands around the curve of my ass and pulled me harder against him. “Mmmmm, Molly, I love you,” he murmured as he kissed my neck.
“Bryce….” I start to push him away from me.
“What, do not you not love me anymore?” He bent down and picked up the whiskey bottle he dropped earlier.
“You know I do, that’s why I’m here. That’s why I come over here when you need help.”
“The only help I need from you is tending to my hard on,” the words poured out of his mouth as he looked at me blankly.
Frozen in sheer disbelief, I finally mustered to say, “Wow. Wow, I can’t believe you.” I backed away and gestured to him, “This guy right here, you can bet your ass I don’t love this guy!”
He clutched his heart as if I shot it with an arrow and pouted. I grabbed the bottle from his hands and very dramatically, out of frustration, started pouring the contents directly onto the floor. A large spot on the carpet is soaked through by the time I empty the bottle.
Bryce didn’t say a word, instead he just glared at me with his sapphire eyes, the ones that lost their spark months ago, as if to sarcastically say, that’s really mature of you. He flopped himself onto the couch, as I headed to the kitchen to collect the rest.
“Can you fix me a drink while you’re in there? The guy you don’t love is getting thirsty out here.”
When I came back into the living room a few minutes later, tote bag of various liquor bottles in hand, Bryce is on the couch with a new bottle in his hand.
“Bryce!” I say as I grab the bottle away from him and add it to my stash, “I can’t keep doing this, I want to help you but I can’t be the only one doing all the work.”
As I set the bag of liquor by the door, I see him retrieve another bottle from between the couch cushions.
“Bryce!” I snatch this bottle away too and add it to the bag.
“What?! Why can’t I have a little fun every now and then?! I haven’t even had as much as I usually have and I’m just here at home. What’s the fucking problem!?”
I could tell he was getting irritable now, so I sat next to him on the couch and softly said, “If you’re serious about getting sober, this is not how you can have fun anymore.”
He runs his hand along my thigh and nuzzles my neck.
“Then please show me the Molly approved ways of having fun,” he whispers as he pulls me onto his lap.
We start kissing again and it occurred to me that he didn’t seem as drunk this time. I’ve been able to understand everything he was saying so far, maybe it’s a small step towards recovery? I know I was fooling myself for thinking it, but usually at this point of the intervention we’d already be yelling at each other. And I always found myself thinking back to how we found ourselves here.
About eight months into mine and Bryce’s relationship, his older brother Bryan passed away suddenly from an unknown brain tumor. Bryan was like an amplified version of Bryce and his only relative he was truly close with. Most of Bryce’s stories I loved hearing about involved Bryan too. He was the life of the party that never seemed to stop, until the day it did.
To say it left Bryce devastated is an understatement. He admired Bryan so much, his entire life’s philosophy came from the influence of his brother. Driven by spontaneity and sense of adventure, they had a bond that ran deeper than blood. They knew there was so much in the world to experience and the fact that they would not be able to experience it together was crushing.
His drinking didn’t seem too concerning at first, because Bryce was always a social drinker and routine partier. Mourning a loss like that, was something I personally had never experienced. I didn’t know what healthy grieving looked like.
Once Bryce said he was ready to try to regain some normalcy, I thought it was a positive step. But our dates soon turned into whiskey soaked nights that were constantly prolonged with another round, another bar, another party.
He was getting carried away all too soon and I found myself having to try to get my sloshing mess of a boyfriend back home after a long night out. Or I’d have to help him recover and mend after a bar fight. And the nights we weren’t together usually ended with me dropping everything to pick him up and take him home.
I know I need to stop this. I know I shouldn’t reward him for another drunken stupor. Even so, it’s moments like this that make me forget all his broken promises. That our attraction and connection we shared is still there and that somewhere deep inside, the Bryce I love is still there.
But I can taste the liquor on his breath and it brings me back to all the uncontrollable tantrums that led to disastrous mornings. I couldn’t keep fooling myself into thinking he is somehow showing progress. The truth was that nothing was changing, because it was up to him to take those steps and until he did, I’d be left feeling helpless, no matter how hard I tried to save him.
He was crashing and burning and I didn’t know how to help him anymore. Anytime I’d question if he had enough to drink that night, we’d end up fighting. I’d tell him it broke my heart to see him like this, he’d apologize and say he wants to get better, that he needs my help to get better. And after shouts and tears, if he hadn’t passed out by then, we would end up in the bedroom. Bryce left feeling satisfied while dozing into a drunken post sex sleep, while I felt uneasy and helpless.
I grip his shoulders and push myself off of him, standing up. He tries to stand as well, but without anything to grip, he slumped back onto the couch.
“I’m sorry baby, I don’t thi— I don’t think I can make it to the bedroom tonight,” he slurs as he starts to close his eyes.
“Bryce, I need you to listen to me,” I start snapping my fingers in his face to keep him awake and looking at me, “I’m done lying to you and to myself for that matter. This is not a good look for you.” I take in his unkempt sloshed manner. “I need you to pull it the fuck together.”
He started sitting up when he heard the seriousness of my tone, “Molly, I—”
“Save it.” I start to gather my purse and the bag of alcohol I’m confiscating, “I am tired of trying to talk things out. I don’t really know what good it does when all these nights end the same. Until you are truly serious about getting sober, don’t call me.”
I stomped over to the door, Bryce not bothering to say a word on my way out. Lugging the heavy bag of liquor to my car, I dumped it in the passenger’s seat. It was nearing dawn, I had stayed there far longer than I had intended. Seeing the slow stages of the sky lightening up to a new day gave me hope that things would be better. I hoped that Bryce had finally heard me and would take it upon himself to figure the rest out.
It was obvious that his drinking was doing little to help his grieving and only worsened his own quality of life. And our relationship for that matter. He has been spiraling down a drain and it feels like he’s taking me with him. But even still, knowing what his brother meant to him, I think the reasons for his actions are understandable.
Reasons or excuses? I can hear my friend Jessica say it now. She has seen my trials and tribulations with Bryce and she has been over it for months now. One of last times I brought up the topic of Bryce to her, she had said, “Is he suffering? Absolutely. But he’s not the only one, you’re being affected too and he doesn’t even realize the toll this has been taking on you for how long now?!”
She was right, I knew I needed to grow a backbone and stand my ground with Bryce. I have tried so hard to help him and it’s gotten us nowhere. The nagging voice in the back of my mind, calling me a failure, was getting louder by the day. And I was finally ready to listen to it and accept what my gut already knew.
A mixture of feelings swirled around my head as I drove home. The sorrow of basically ending my relationship with him, the fact that I felt like I was giving up on him, plus the doubt of whether or not this was the best way to help him. Not to mention exhaustion from dealing with all this crap at such an ungodly hour. But I also had a feeling of relief, the weight of taking responsibility for Bryce was finally lifted off of me. And it was a feeling I focused my mind on, that is, until I saw the blue and red lights flashing in the rearview mirror.
