54
The thin shaft of light hits me right between the eyes, and I curse myself for not closing my curtains properly before going to bed last night. That’s the least of my worries, though. Within a split second I pick up the vile taste in my mouth. It’s a taste that tells me the previous evening was heavily driven by alcohol, as if the pounding headache wasn’t a giveaway in itself.
Why do I do this? Why? I didn’t need to drink. I could have just pulled myself together, got my head in the right place and enjoyed a nice quiet evening in front of the telly. Why did I feel the need to go out and get absolutely shitfaced?
I try to think back. I went out with Kieran. We got some food, hit a few bars, then I...
The anger rises up inside me again, almost like a Pavlovian reaction. Just rememberi
