It burns as it runs down your throat, searing and killing your senses as it fills you from the inside out, but still, it's not enough. It's never enough. There's more that you want, a hole you just can't fill, at least not without dirty looks and those words of suspicion flying your way. You want to tell them that it's okay, that you know what you're doing, but honestly, that would all be a lie. You don't know that it's okay, you don't know what you're doing. You're flying along on wings with torn feathers, just waiting for the fall.
When you give in, it's like you're coming home. The hunger sated, the feeling that you're crawling out of your own skin quieted, if only for a moment. You know you're dancing with dangerous things, but in those handful of moments, it's perfect. Peaceful. Like how things used to be before it all went to hell in a handbasket, before you lost almost everything that was important, before it became you against the world. Everything seems possible, nothing holding you back, and it would be oh so easy just to curl your fingers around it, grip it, hold it tight-
And then he looks at you. Eyes that are so familiar that you ache inside, and you hate yourself for what you're doing. You want to throw it up, exorcise those demons that dwell in your soul, but no matter how much you try to tell him that you're fine. That you're clean, that you're okay, he still gives you that look.
Disappointed.
Fearful.
Distrustful.
So you drink more, lose yourself in the leash that's wrapped around you, because at least you can lean on that. At least it's not going to let you fall.