Tequila Sunrise

His days always started in the quiet dark of early morning. His internal clock awakened him before the sun rose each morning, even if oblivion had not found him until an hour before.

He hefted himself off the bed, oppressed by the weight of his body as much as his mind. He headed to the bathroom to relieve the first. The second lightened when he reached the kitchen and grabbed the ever present bottle from the side shelf in the fridge. With the house still with slumber, no one awake to look pained and cause him guilt or shame, he tipped his head, drinking straight from the bottle. With the slow burn of each swallow, the tightness in his chest loosened, albeit infinitesimally. Enough so that he could take a deep, cleansing breath. Savoring the relief, the release, however fleeting, he opened his eyes. The ever-present darkness receded to the periphery.

Another day.

Placing the bottle back in the fridge, he headed back to the bedroom to prepare for the office.