Alcoholics Anonymous

“My name is Arthur and I’m an alcoholic,” I said, scanning the crowd for their nods of reassurance. “It all started in high school…”

A few people looked bored then. I was telling what I was sure was the most unoriginal story. Everyone started drinking in high school. That was completely normal. Even expected.

I mentally crossed the bored ones off my list. They were not interested in my story, so they were not worth getting to know. I was looking for a friend and friends paid attention.

“After a while, it was my only escape from the beatings.”

My hands clenched despite my best efforts. It was never easy to talk about that part of the story. I could feel a drip of blood, running down my fingertips as my nails pierced skin.

Some perked up at that admission. Sick bastards.

My list of potentials was getting smaller.

I came to these meetings to feel better. Calmer. To have a momentary break from battling my demons.

These were my people. If anyone could understand me, it would be someone here.

“I fell in with a bad crowd and the drinking turned to worse things. Experimentations, drugs. There are whole weeks where I cannot remember anything that occurred.”

A few people bowed their heads and fidgeted with their hands. I was speaking to them now. They were the only ones who knew how dark that path could truly get.

“In my crowd, it was normal to fight over drugs and alcohol. To chase down the drugs with a bottle of vodka. To see your drug friends die from overdose or in a knife fight over drugs.”

Mercy. She was the first friend I lost. If I closed my eyes, I could still see her bony figure and gray skin. Her eyes open and staring at nothing…

“I—I lost many friends during that time,” I admitted.

Ah, the back corner. A person of interest caught my eye.

A pretty woman in her mid twenties. Well dressed, though cheaply. Her blond hair was perfectly curled in soft waves that fell in a curtain to her waist. Her blue eyes were shockingly clear, even from this far away. And only a small scar through her eyebrow gave any hint that her upbringing was rougher than she let on.

She was the only one who seemed kind, despite it all. My list was finally down to one.

I smiled encouragingly at her.

She would be my next friend.

Everything was already in place. The rolls of duct tape and rope I bought from various hardware stores. Never the same place. Never enough to be suspicious. The knives I had custom made, so sharp they claimed to cut through a shoe. A simple drug to make her feel no pain. The last one went too quickly. I wanted to enjoy our time together. To make it last.

I finished the story and went to sit near her.

One handshake. “Will you be my friend?”