Chapter 2

I was laying on my bed in that mental place between being drunk lucid and being just plain drunk.

Thoughts rambled though my head, and if you had asked me what day it was, or even what I was wearing, I wouldn't have been able to tell you.

Or possibly even focus on your face.

The latest bottle empty, I had been laying on my back staring at the fan slowly spinning on the ceiling. Empty. Devoid of any interest in - well - anything really.

I had stopped going to the pub to drown my sorrows, and had started just drinking at 'home'. When I first started going to the pub, it had been for a few drinks and a bit of social interaction. It had also lead to a job offer. As the days wore on though, I started to resent the place. Oh, the prices were reasonable, the atmosphere pleasant, but it was hard sitting there watching lovers do the tonsil dance and be all lovey dovey with each other. Many times I had wanted to...

Well. I am not sure what I wanted to do, but I wanted to do something. In the end, it all became too much, and I started just staying home and drinking. Plus, it was cheaper, especially when I started drinking the cheap stuff.

I had gotten a crappy laborer job to pay the bills and as long as I turned up and didn't kill myself, they didn't care how drunk I was. I had started to take full advantage of that situation - it helped me forget. Way back when, I hadn't really thought my actions through other than just wanting to get away, hadn't even thought about money. All I knew at the time was that I needed to get as far away from that place as possible. And quickly.

On the flight up (and after crying like a baby for far too long), I had plenty of time to think, and the one thing I had decided was that I didn't wanted to touch my money - or should I say 'our money'? At the time, as part of the arrangements for getting married we had set up joint bank accounts. Salary split into bill accounts, credit card payments and savings accounts. Savings accounts for the weddings, for school for planned kids, all sort of crazy stuff. Nothing would ever come of that now, but in my mental state at the time, I hadn't wanted to go near anything that reminded me of her. Of us. Plus, to me, touching any of the bank accounts would have given her...

Well, it would have been some sort of contact. Some acknowledgement of existence. I didn't think she deserved that.

But now, lying on my bead and I can hear her voice. Or can I? I strain to hear it, suddenly focused for the first time in ages. It sounds concerned but as I struggle to decipher her words, it slowly drifts away. Words aren't needed to make me nervous, simply the sound of her voice makes my heart go nuts.

After a few minutes of silence, I snigger to myself at the though of her being here. Why would she? She had obviously never cared about me to have done what she did or how she had ... But no, nothing further was heard. Obviously my mind was playing tricks on me again.

In the weeks and months that had followed my arrival in Darwin, I had often thought I had seen or heard her from afar. Someone would laugh, sounding just like her, and my head would snap around. My eyes panicked, not sure if I wanted it to be her or not. Other times, someone would slink by with a similar hair style and I would panic, not knowing whether to run or play possum*.

I had often dwelled over it, wondering if I would ever forget anything about her. Ex lovers always hold a certain place in your heart, and to be truthful I think it would have been impossible for me to ever forget it - I used to sometimes wonder if I actually did want to forget it? The hurt and pain was what kept me going these days, what would I do without it? Before she had come into my life, I had been just going through the motions. Now, post Amy, I was once again going through the motions. Return to normal, circle of life, right?

I awoke, some time later. It was dark, so I checked my watch to see if I should be at work yet. 4 am. Almost time.

Breakfast was - well, there was no breakfast. Once upon a time I had made an effort to eat properly. Cereal for breakfast, sandwiches for lunch and something healthy for tea. Now, I ate what was available - when I wasn't drinking that is. Actually, I probably ate more while I was drinking than when I wasn't. Munchies seemed to arrive about the fifth drink these days, and with a Maccas down the road within stumbling distance, I never saw the need to actually buy groceries from the supermarket. As far as I was concerned, the supermarket was for booze. Oh, and cigarettes. I had started smoking.

Not sure why, I had never smoked before.

A quick shower to wash away - well - I couldn't actually think why I bothered. I sweated all day in the heat and the humidity, and would start to smell as soon as I stepped out into the big bad world. Certainly by the time I arrived at work, I would be all sweaty - it was a 2 k walk without a car. Habit, I suppose.

Once upon a time, a hot shower of a morning had wake me up, but now, being awake didn't seem to be the challenge it once was of a morning.

After about 10 minutes of walking, I had arrived at the supermarket. It was one of those 24 hour jobbies, near the main highway. Booze was stocked, and available not just cheaply, but in bulk. 1 liter of bourbon for $24? Bargain. One on the way to work, one on the way home.

Boss said something about an inspection today so to play safe, I bought a couple of 2 liter bottles of pepsi. Something to mix it would make it go further and give me some sense of deniability.

Scratching around in my wallet I find the needed change. As usual, my finger lingers over the old 'plastic fantastic'. The joint credit card.

I should throw it out, but like the photo, it helps me maintain the rage.

Double bagged purchases in hand, I stumble out. Time to stop for a quick 'taste' or not? Start time is 5am, currently 4:47.

Decision made, I break the seal, and take a quick gulp from the bottle. By the time I reach work, I have regained the buzz.

I stumble into my 'office' falling against the light switch. The gas lights take ages to heat up, so its still dark as I fumble (and stumble) my way to the little boys room.

Fortunately, there is plenty of 'props' to hold me up as I empty my bladder. By the time I make my way back to my little 'office' the lights are starting to wake up. It will be some time until the lights are bright enough to see the interior of the workshop I hide in, but that suits my eyes. I am a TA to a quick lime producer. TA means Trades Assistant.