You Never Call Me When You're Sober Mga Nobela at Kwento

One of the bar boys walked up to me, “What would you like, sir?“ “Anything. I rasped. Anything strong. Anything to keep me grounded.“ I felt like I was falling into a bottomless pit, going deeper with each second. The world around me began to fade into shadows. No matter how hard I tried to climb, I only sank deeper and it was as if I was allowing myself to get swallowed by the dark. And I couldn't let that happen. I remembered the promise I made to the doctor; “I’ll make sure she's always at her best.“ I can't do that when I'm this way. I need to get back in control. I took another gulp of the drink the bar boy brought and reached for my phone in my pocket. My fingers swiftly scrolled throu

After the call was cut, Sasha grabbed the phone and texted Evelyn the address. “She won’t believe you. She knows I’m a changed man. I don’t borrow money anymore.” Mark said. He was saying the truth. He had gotten help and went to rehab. After his treatment, he had gone back to school while working part-time jobs during the day. He was a reformed person. Sasha scoffed in response. “You don’t know anything about human nature. She may know you’ve changed but deep down, she will always wonder if one day you will go back to your old ways of gambling and abusing drugs.”

“There’s a twist.” I took a sip of the drink. “Grape juice?” I was expecting wine and finding the soft, sweet tang of something non-alcoholic. He nodded. “Yeah. I’m off the drinks for now. I need to be sober twenty-four-seven.” “Because of the mines?” I asked, tilting my head. “Not just that,” he said, his voice quieter now. “The office. The team. Everything. I can’t afford to slip anymore. And honestly, the drinks were starting to slow me down.”

“And do you ever feel – feel tempted to drink?” “Honestly? No, almost never. I’ve been sober for over six years now, and it’s a habit, it’s a whole lifestyle. I run every day, no matter what, and the exercise clears my head. I box at a local gym, and that helps me blow off steam. I stay healthy physically, and that keeps my head on straight.” He smiled at her. “And now that you’re with me, I feel even stronger and steadier than I did yesterday. And yesterday I felt pretty damn strong and steady.” “You really feel that way about me?” she stuttered. “Right from the beginning?”

"It was the alcohol. He didn't mean any of it." But the quieter voice in the back of my mind was not so easily convinced. Only in a drunken state does a person say what they truly feel. "You don't know anything," I told that voice firmly. It didn't stop. I lay awake until the sky outside my window shifted from black to deep blue to the pale grey of early morning, and when the sun finally rose I was still staring at the ceiling, no closer to peace than I had been at midnight.

"He’s your son! How could you do this? It’s... it’s sick." "He stopped being my son the moment he signed my death warrant," he replied, his eyes turning into chips of black ice. He stood up, towering over me, his powerful physique a testament to the brutal discipline he’d used to rebuild his life. "He’s a weak, sniveling squatter in a house built on my blood. He failed to protect you, and he failed to kill me. Now, he’s just a ghost in a suit, and you’re the woman who belongs to the man he tried to murder."

"At school or at work, I don't care where. Just bring them. Okay?" I swallowed the lump in my throat and shifted in bed. "Okay." The line went dead. He had ended the call, leaving me staring at my phone in disbelief. It was the first time in days he had reached out to me—and he had been completely sober.

"Starting with the truth. Starting with facing what your father did. With dignity." She's right. I've been running from my father's shadow my whole life. Trying to be different while still benefiting from everything he built. It's time to face it. "Help me sober up," I say. "Already on it." ++++++++ Two days later, I'm clean, sober, and ready. I call Dante. "We need to meet. Just us. No weapons, no backup." "I'm listening." "Pier 12. The abandoned shipping office. One hour."

"You do not know the meaning of addicted, do you? I left for business. Stop behaving like a brat." "Great, I am too dumbasssy to know the meaning of addicted. Going for business without picking my calls and replying texts." "Because we couldn't have phones. That was a big distraction… You know you'd be the first person I am trying to come clean for." "Get off me."

Disconnecting the call, I take another deep breath and whimper. “Are you okay, miss?” Big eyes stare at me worriedly, as a homeless man bends over strangely to look at me. I nod, taking another breath. “Yeah. I am now. Thank you so much for asking.” “I might have something to help you calm down.” He says, starting to rummage through his big bag filled up with bottles, causing me to smile. With another breath flipping in my throat, I chuckle. “Thank you. But I can’t. I’m sober, you know.” I lie, not wanting to decline his gentle help but also not wanting to share a bottle with a stranger.