heyy!

play: "whisky lullaby" –brad paisley
p.s. if you want to cry, listen to the song while reading

He sat in the front seat of his vintage car, smiling softly at the photo clasped gently between his index finger and thumb. His raven black hair fell gently across his brown eyes, and his grip loosened on the steering wheel. Silently, he gazed out the passenger side window at the colonial-style home staring back at him. It was dark out and only one window was lit. The driveway was populated by only one car – her car. For a moment he wondered where her mother was, but the thought left his head as he stepped outside. Instantly, the biting cold wind slapped his cheek. He placed the picture of her smiling at the camera on the beaten leather seat, shutting the door.

As Shane made his way up the steps to the Torres house, his heart sped like a race horse sprinting towards the finish. The front door was unlocked so he proceeded quietly inside, looking around the familiar foyer. It had been two years since he had last seen her, since that's how long his tour had lasted. His coming back was a surprise for his long-distance girlfriend for three years. The twenty-one year old twisted the stem of a red rose between his calloused fingers as he listened for a noise.

There was a small thud and a giggle coming from directly above him. Shane shut his eyes for a moment, smiling, before proceeding to the creaky wooden stairs. With each step climbed, another fond memory of him and Mitchie flashed before his eyes. There was another laugh. The door to her bedroom was at the end of the hallway, cracked open, with a dim golden light pouring out into the black hallway. He stepped closer and closer to the door, finally reaching it and gently pushing it open with his palm.

Mitchie sat straight up in her bed, wearing only a black bra, with another man's arms around her bare waist. The moment Shane's eyes met hers, he dropped the rose to the floor. Without saying a word, he softly walked away. He could hear Mitchie calling his name repeatedly, her nimble footsteps on the wood floor behind him. He felt a rush of tears cloud his vision and mind and pressed silently on. He walked until he reached the front door. In one swift motion, Shane opened the door and closed it gently behind him. Mitchie was sobbing on the other side, but he didn't care.

He let out a small sob as he got behind the wheel of his car and drove away, anywhere, although he wasn't sure where. Stopping on the side of a narrow road, he reached behind him and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, stashed away in case he needed it. And boy, did he need it. He let out more and more tears. With every tear slipping down his cheek, it was another swig of the whiskey. He could feel himself getting sicker and sicker, dizzier and more light-headed but he didn't care. He would keep drinking until her face left his mind.

The sound of her sweet voice filled his ears. He saw her vision standing in the middle of the road, clad in her black bra and wide eyes. He slammed his head against the window and let more of the warming fluid slip down his throat. He knew he was hallucinating but he couldn't stop anymore. The closer her image walked to him on the dark road, the more whiskey he drank. He leaned over the side and threw up on the passenger seat, gagging as the bitter taste of heartbreak left his body.

He was suddenly thirsty. More alcohol escaped its bottle. Shane broke out into a cold sweat as he finished the last sips of the first-full bottle. The more he sat behind the wheel of his idle car, the more tired he became. Exhaling sharply, he shifted the gear to drive and slowly inched forward. His heart was beating rapidly. "Why would you do this to me?" he whispered, tears blurring his vision.

Before he knew what was happening, a bright light shone into his eyes. As the eighteen-wheeler blared its loud horn, he just shut them and prayed to die.

Mitchie Torres was nineteen and in love. She dabbed her eyes as she stood in front of his grave, dressed head to toe in black. A single tear slipped gently down her porcelain cheek. Flowers and other memorabilia adorned the dirt-covered grave. She looked around the site. It was an empty meadow, all except for a single white picket fence and a majestic willow tree that canopied the grave.

She let out a small sob as she brought a bottle to her lips. The warm fluid slipped down her throat. The more she drank, the clearer his smiling vision became to her. So she drank more, anticipating a short drive back home where his angels would sing her a whisky lullaby.

thoughts?