Camille eyed Lucien closely, the whiskey dumped down the drain. She had to force him to choose, to realize his life was worth living. She even hinted she might be part of it, or she would at least prop him up until he was strong enough to stand alone.
He took the flask and put it in his pocket.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “You don’t need that. It’s empty.”
“But it isn’t empty,” he said softly. “It’s filled with what little courage I have. I want to keep it with me. At least for a while.”
She looked at him, head c****d. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s a reminder,” he explained. “A crutch. A memory of when I was strong enough to dump good whiskey down the drain.”
"If it helps you, keep it. But I’ll help you, too.”
He smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “I suspected you would. Now tell me w
