Chapter 1: Carrie

I was lying on the floor in a puddle of slimy vomit. The floor was hard and hurt my back. My head was pounding like a drum. It felt like someone had split my skull with an ax.

Barely able to open my eyes in the gleaming light, I drifted in and out of consciousness for what seemed like an hour or two.

I reached out with my hand and touched something. My eyes were still closed like I was just too exhausted to even try to open them. I peeked down at my phone and turned it on. Dozens of missing calls and texts pinged in. Each sound was painfully amplified by my headache.

Squinting my eyes, I scrolled through the multitude of missed calls and text messages my husband, Ernie, had sent me.

‘I am worried about you’; ‘Are you okay?’; ‘Why aren’t you returning my messages?’; ‘Did you turn off your phone?’; Where are you?!’

The last message, however, stopped my heart. ‘I hope you are not getting drunk again.’

He couldn’t know about my problem with alcohol. I had been careful.

I tried to get up and find out where I was, but my head started hurting again and things around me began to veer. I peeked through my squinted eyes and saw I was home.

I was still wearing the same clothes I had on the previous day. Then, I realized I didn’t remember even coming back home. The last thing I could recall was going out drinking after work. It had been a very complicated day, and I needed to relax. I was on my third vodka martini while some of my co-workers were still on their first drink. I was having a good time and laughing a lot. But after that, everything else was a blur.

“Ernie?” I called out, but it came out groggy, and I wasn’t sure if my husband heard me, or even if he was awake.

I slowly stood up and started stretching my arms. I was still exhausted and sore from whatever happened the previous night.

I could hear noises coming from the kitchen, and a few footsteps. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the room. As soon as I smelled the coffee, I felt so much more awake.

“Ernie!” I called my husband again. This time my voice was louder.

The footsteps became heavier and were coming in my direction.

“Ah, you are finally awake,” Ernie said. He was carrying a cup of coffee in his hands.

“Please, could you keep your voice down, honey? My head is killing me.” I tried to sit down on the couch, but my feet slipped on the puke and ended up on the floor.

I had a sour taste in my mouth and a burning sensation in my throat.

“How did I get back here?”

“A bartender from Seattle called me,” Ernie told me, handing me the coffee. I knew that tone of voice. He was making an effort to remain calm. “You had passed out at his bar.”

He didn’t try to disguise his disgust.

“I don’t even remember passing out. I went out for a drink with a group of co-workers,” I said, taking a sip of coffee. It was strong and bitter. “Why am I lying on the floor?”

Ernie shrugged. “I put you on the couch. I have no idea how you ended up on the floor. You must have fallen.” His voice was cold. “You need to stop doing this to yourself, Carrie. You need help.”

From the way Ernie’s breathing changed, I could tell that he was mad at me and doing his best not to yell at me.

“Help? Because last night I had one too many? I don’t need any help” I shouted back. My temples started pulsing fast and my head hurt. I lowered my voice, “I work hard, and I deserve to let my hair down after a long and stressful week. You will not tell me what I need or don’t need.”

“I will tell you what I don’t need,” he barked. “I don’t need a drunk wife. I can’t build a future with someone who doesn’t love herself enough to admit she has a problem.”

I felt his words hit hard on my heart like a sledgehammer. The pounding in my head wasn’t helping.

“Honey, it was just this time. You are making a mountain out of a molehill.” My voice was a little dodgy.

Ernie threw his arms up in frustration and groaned.

“One time? Carrie, stop it! You’re not kidding anyone. Not anymore. This situation is destroying me!” He wrinkled his nose, and added, “You stink. You’re lying in a puddle of your vomit; you peed yourself and I can smell the alcohol coming from your mouth from where I’m standing.”

“Yes, last night I drank a bit more than usual, but I am not a drunkard,” I protested.

Ernie snorted. “A bit? Try a lot better. Open your eyes, Carrie. Your drinking is out of control. You need to stop.” He shook his head, frustrated. “You know what? I can’t do this anymore. I can’t look the other way and pretend this is normal, because it’s not!”