□ Noah Carter □
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□ Drinking Once Again □

The familiar burning sensation runs through me as I sip a glass of Fireball whiskey. I beat Harry again, and he disappeared while I tried to clear my head on a walk. It didn't help me calm down, and I decided to pour a glass of whiskey. I can't believe I fell back on this habit. There goes my promise of not being like my parents.

God, and Harry is fucking terrified of me! I don't want to be like this anymore! I don't want to be controlled by this anymore. I hate my parents for treating me like this. My childhood is affecting my choices and what I do.

I down the whiskey, ashamed of myself. I'm tired of this shit. I can't keep going down this road. If I do, I'll end up causing Harry more pain and terror. The alcohol enters my system, and I groan.

How the Hell can I make good on my promise to Harry if I'm the worst person ever? I pour myself another glass and drink it in one gulp. I can't stay good if there are other men making a move on my boyfriend. I'm trying to stay good for Harry, but I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend that I won't be like my parents.

Harry is cooking breakfast while I nurse my hangover. He's jumpy, and I don't blame him. I was that way when my father began to abuse me. But Harry was the one who brought me back to earth. Harry hands me a plate of eggs and hash, his hands shaking.

He heads back to the counter, where he drops a cup when someone knocks on the front door. I grow angry, and I'm not sure where this anger is coming from. But I control it and put on a smile when I open the door. It's a neighbor of mine, who hands me a tray of brownies. Apparently, she and her wife are moving to Boston, Massachusetts and decided to bake treats to give to their neighbors.

We got brownies. I thank the woman, and she walks down the sidewalk. I shut the door and head back to the kitchen. Harry cleaned up the glass, and he has his head hung low. "I'm sorry," he says to me when I approach him.

My anger takes control again, and I grab a pocket knife from my jeans. "Give me your arm," I say sternly. Harry begins to tremble but does as he's told. I flick open the knife and roll up his sleeve. His cry of pain still haunts my memories as his blood stains the blade.

Another person knocks on the front door, and I go check it out. Harry is sewing up the scar and places ointment on it before he puts a bandage over it. I look through the peephole and see that it's Dr. Heart. He's here to see Harry. A jealous rage fills my heart.

I ignore Dr. Heart's knocking and walk into the living room. Harry puts the first aid kit away and keeps his gaze on the empty fireplace. I grab a novel and settle into my armchair, reading the first chapter. Dr. Heart keeps knocking, and I ignore him. Harry looks absolutely miserable.

Good, that's how he should feel. Wait, where is this coming from? I've never revelled in Harry's unhappiness before. Dr. Heart eventually storms off, and I'm grateful for that. His knocking was getting annoying.

"I don't want you to see Dr. Heart anymore," I tell Harry, who looks up at me. "No one else should know about this," I add, flipping the pages of the novel. Harry nods. "Call him and tell him that you never want to see him again," I order. Harry does as he's told, but his voice breaks a bit; to my surprise, I hardly care about that.

When I'm at work, I can't get my thoughts off what I had done to Harry. Why am I letting my past take control of what I do? Maybe I need therapy or something. Anything to get rid of the dark side of me. I don't want to keep hurting Harry.

But Harry may feel like he has my permission to speak with anyone he wishes. That can't happen again. After he spoke with that man in the trench coat, this anger keeps filling my senses, overriding my logic. I've been making decisions with my emotions instead of my mind. I have to control this because if I don't, Harry may consider ending his own life.

After I get off work, I head to the bar. If Harry's going to break promises, why can't I do the same? I have a shot of tequila and lock eyes with a handsome man. I grin, and he approaches me. "Wanna dance?" he asks me.

I say, "Yes." We head out to the dance floor and join the threshold of bodies. It's warm, but I don't feel it. The man places his fingers underneath my chin, and we kiss each other deeply. I didn't see Harry there at all, and I didn't imagine that he'd see the kiss.

"Harry, love, that kiss didn't mean anything! At all," I beg the next morning. "You have to believe me," I continue. Harry has a sad look in his eyes. "Harry, it was just in the moment, that's all it was," I say. Harry looks me in the eye, and I kiss him.

He kisses me back, and I place my hands on his back. "Do you forgive me?" I ask softly when we pull away. Harry nods. I smile, kissing him again. Harry returns the action.

Every time I drink, I end up kissing other men. I stumble home and think I beat Harry. He doesn't tell me, but he constantly treats his own wounds whenever I wake up with a hangover. My mother never cheated on my father with other men like I am. Harry forgave me for the one kiss, but he doesn't know about the others.

One morning, I wake up under silk sheets. A man I met at the bar pours us cups of coffee, having a robe on. Oh, shit. I had sex with another man! Harry can't find out about this.

I hope you all enjoyed chapter five. If you have questions, ask me in the comments, on my message board, or over PMs.