No, he does not usually drink. As a matter of fact, he hates the taste and even the smell of alcohol in his own shirt. But that night, he knew that somehow he needed that. He knew that a bottle of beer or two could turn things into faint memories for a while.
He sat with his friends. A bottle of San Miguel and a shot of tequila. He said he’s doing it because he’s happy. He never admitted being sad. He tried, tried hard, to make people think he’s never sad.
Down with the second bottle of beer and third shot of tequila. He started to feel dizzy as if he was floating in ecstasy.
Third, fourth, fifth bottle of beer. Fourth, fifth shot of tequila… He already lost count. His friends started to act like silly college freshmen without any reputation to protect.
Alone, he went to the smoking area, lit up a cigarette and looked nowhere. As the alcohol start to poison his bloodstream, tears began falling.
Then he realized how his past kept on preventing him from being truly happy. That after all the years that passed, he had not really moved on.
Hours passed, he’s finally sober. He knew that alcohol would only bring back memories, bring back pain.
He knew what he needed. Another shot.