Chapter Text
“I’m never drinking again,” Sam says, head in his hands.
“Okay,” Sebastian says.
“I mean it this time,” Sam says, raising his head to look Sebastian in the eye. The world spins. He puts his head back down, resting it on the table in front of him.
“Okay. Sure,” Sebastian says. “You’re quitting drinking and I’m moving to Zuzu.”
Sam rolls his eyes for his own benefit. “You can’t move to Zuzu. I’ll have no one to talk to,” he complains. He wonders if Sebastian gets a kick out of having this same conversation over and over again: always threatening to move and Sam always trying to convince him to stay. It didn’t work on Abigail, but hopefully, being closer to Sebastian, it’ll work on him.
“You can talk to Shane, since you spend so much time together,” Sebastian says.
“We do not,” Sam says.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Whatever,” Sam says, then raises his head again, but slower this time. He stares at his breakfast, lovingly prepared by his ever-suffering mother, and resists the urge to vomit. “Besides, Shane and I don’t really talk that much. I mean, I talk at him, if that counts for anything, but I mostly just talk to Emily when she’s not busy.”
Sebastian just sips his coffee.
“What?” Sam says.
Sebastian shakes his head.
“Come on, I know you have something to say. Just spit it out.”
After some consideration, Sebastian says:
“You’ve been to the saloon almost every night for the past three weeks.”
“Someone’s been counting.”
“It’s not like it’s hard to keep track… Vincent probably misses you too.”
Not for the first time, Sam feels a bit guilty. But not guilty enough to quit, as he finds himself in the saloon again that night. He drinks so much the world spins, but it still doesn’t get him to quit. He finds himself hung over the next morning, vomiting his guts out almost as soon as he opens his eyes. He groans, thankful he made it to a trashcan, but getting seriously tired of his own shenanigans. There’s a knock on the door. He hears his mother’s voice.
“Sam?” she asks. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” he calls back, then hacks up some vomit stuck in his throat. When he looks at it, he realizes it’s bloody. Bright red. That information goes quickly to the back of his mind. Something to worry about at a different time.
He’s pretty sure his mother is hovering around his door, possibly wringing her hands, worried about him and unsure what to do about it. Being 25, it’s not like she can stop him from drinking. It upsets her, but it upsets his dad even more. When Sam leaves to brush his teeth, however, she isn’t there. A bit of a let down. Maybe she’s tired of him too. He brushes his teeth, then heads to the kitchen.
His father, sitting at the kitchen table, drinking his coffee and reading the paper, does not greet him when he walks into the room.
“Morning, pop-pop,” Sam says.
“Pop-pop?” Kent says, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Sam says with a little laugh. “You’re my pop-pop, pop-pop.”
“Maybe just stick with dad,” Kent replies, going back to his paper.
“You’re no fun,” Sam says. He rummages around in the fridge for a bit before giving up. “I’m going to Pierre’s. Do you need anything?”
“I don’t, but ask your mother. Take Vincent with you.”
Sam doesn’t say anything. He goes to find his mother. She wants eggs. “Make sure it’s the farmer’s eggs. They’re so delicious,” she says. Well, how exactly he’s supposed to tell which eggs are the farmer’s eggs, he doesn’t know. She says, “You’ll know. The shells look healthier.” Yeah, sure, whatever that means.
He knocks on Vincent’s door next. Vincent doesn’t answer.
“Vincent?” he calls.
The door opens and an excited Vincent stands before him. “I thought you were mom!”
Sam frowns. “You should answer mom too.”
Vincent shakes his head. “You don’t get it.”
Sam laughs. “Oh, trust me, I get it. I get it all too well. Want to go to the store with me?”
Vincent smiles. “Hell yeah,” he says. Sam gives him a look. “Heck yeah? Man, you’re grumpy today. Hung over again?”
“Why do you even know about that?”
Vincent shrugs. “Everyone can hear you throwing up in the morning.”
Sam sighs. “Great, awesome. No privacy in this house.”
“Nope,” Vincent says brightly, then grabs his hoodie.
Sam is glad his dad told him to bring Vincent. It’s fun walking to Pierre’s together. Joking around like nothing’s about to change in a huge way. Like everything is fine and no-one’s getting divorced. Sam, being the older brother that he is, valiantly carries the groceries home, not letting Vincent take the bags no matter how much he insists that they should share the load. When they get back home, their mother and father are fighting about some inane thing. An argument that could really have been a discussion. That’s them, though. It has gotten so much worse in the past few years. Their dynamic baffles Sam, but he figures, well, he won’t have to deal with it much longer.
He goes to his room and Vincent follows.
“What are you doing?” Sam asks Vincent.
“I thought maybe we could hang out…” Vincent says, looking down. He looks up at Sam. “Right?”
Sam nods. “Alright. I was going to play some music, do you want to listen?”
Vincent thinks about it, then shakes his head. “Maybe we could play some games?”
Sam thinks about it. “Hmm…” The guitar is really calling his name, but everyone keeps getting on his case about not spending enough time with his brother, so he relents. “Alright. But I’m first player.”
Your father and I are getting a divorce.
These words and more echo in Sam’s mind as he mops the floor of Joja Mart. It was weeks ago, but he can’t let it go. A divorce. Vincent hasn’t even graduated from his studies with Penny and they’re getting a divorce. Who’s going to pay for groceries? Will his dad help them out, at least until Vincent’s an adult? Or will he disappear? Sam doesn’t know why he would, but everything is so uncertain, he feels as if anything could happen. It’s been 5 years since Kent’s return, but Sam still feels as if he could evaporate at any moment, slipping through his fingers like painful, hot steam, then disappearing into the atmosphere, never to be seen again.
Sam sighs and turns up his music, trying to redirect his train of thought. So lost in his own mind, he almost trips over Shane as he stocks the bottom shelves.
“Watch it, kid,” Shane snaps at him.
Sam doesn’t hear him. He takes off his headphones and says, “What was that?”
Shane just shakes his head. “Youths these days,” he complains.
“Whatever, man. You’re barely older than me.”
Shane snorts. “Now that’s just not true.”
“You’re what, 30?”
“32. So, like 12 years your senior.”
Sam just laughs, then gets back to mopping, though without his music on. “You drinking tonight?” he asks Shane.
Shane just looks at him.
“What?” Sam asks.
“What kind of a question is that?”
“Just asking. I’ll be there, if you were curious.”
Shane frowns but doesn’t voice his concerns. Sam knows how he feels about his recent uptick in drinking. Everyone seems to agree that Shane’s alcoholism is expected at this point, but Sam’s binge drinking is such a problem. Whatever.
Morris walks past the isle Sam and Shane are in and says:
“I hope you two are working and not wasting company time for your asinine conversations.”
Sam thinks, Tch, whatever, man, but he doesn’t say anything. He just puts his headphones back on and focuses on his music for the rest of his shift, with some worrying thoughts niggling at the back of his mind.
Change. It always happens, no matter how much you want things to stay the same. That’s how Sam feels about it, anyway. He hasn’t seen Abigail in months. Penny got married to that rich farmer. Sebastian remains just as depressed as usual. Maybe even more-so, honestly. He barely wants to hang out with him these days. Well, actually, that might be Sam’s fault, really. At least there’s the dependable saloon crew. He is so looking forward to drinking tonight it’s not even funny. Get crunk. Get litty. Get messed up beyond belief and vomit on the walk home. Man, that’s an embarrassing memory. He’s really got to start watching how much he drinks.
What he doesn’t expect after he’s done with his shift and leaves that depressing warehouse of a store behind is to see Alex of all people, shirtless and glistening, weed-whacking. He stops in his tracks for a moment, and unfortunately, to add to the shit sundae of his life, Alex notices him and gives him a knowing smirk. He flexes exaggeratedly and Sam rolls his eyes before moving on with his life and walking past, making his way to the saloon.
That guy. Probably so proud of himself. He’s hot, but it’s really none of Sam’s business, and Alex didn’t have to go and make it his business, flexing like that. Absolutely goofy behavior. Though, if Sam looked like that, maybe he couldn’t resist showing off a bit. It’s not like Sam’s unattractive, though with the recent drinking spell, he has gained some weight.
The world spins that night. He doesn’t remember too much of it, but he does remember a few bits and pieces: smiles slowly turning to worried looks, leaning heavily on Shane during the walk home, vomiting in the bushes and pissing his pants from the force of it all. That was embarrassing. He really needs to watch how much he’s drinking; he’s really got to change.
That thought is hammered into his head even more the next morning. He goes through his morning ritual of vomiting once again, though this time he misses the trash can. God damn it. He cleans it up the best he can with a pounding headache, then heads to the kitchen for some desperately needed water. Much to his surprise, his whole family is sitting at the kitchen table. They look at him very seriously and he knows immediately what this is: the dreaded intervention.
“Sam,” Jodi says softly. “Take a seat, please.”
Sam groans. “Is this an intervention?” he asks.
Jodi nods. “We’re worried about you, Sam. You just… you seem to be spiraling.”
Sam takes a seat and puts his head in his hands. He rubs his tired eyes and tries not to gag. For some reason, he feels quite defensive. “It’s not that bad,” he says.
“You’re staying out late every night,” Jodi says. “You stumble in here and make a bunch of noise, waking Vincent up in the middle of the night. That’s inconsiderate, you know.”
That familiar guilt makes itself at home in his fast-beating heart. He says nothing.
“I mean, I understand,” Vincent says, looking sympathetic. “I know this is all hard on you.”
Sam rubs his eyes again, wiping away some mysterious moisture that could’ve come from anywhere, really. He certainly wasn’t crying in front of everybody. “It’s hard on you too,” he says. He’s still holding his head. He can’t bear to look at them.
Kent speaks for the first time.
“I just don’t understand why you’re acting this way,” he says. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
Sam looks up at that. “Not that big of a deal? How can you even say that? Mom’s right there, how can you even-”
“Sam, there’s no need to yell,” Jodi says calmly.
Sam hadn’t realized he was raising his voice. But right now, he doesn’t care. “You’re just going to let him disrespect you like that?”
“Disrespect?” Kent says, matching Sam’s volume. “You want to talk about disrespect? How about you wasting all your money on booze? How about you making everyone worry because of your immature behavior?”
Jodi puts her hand on Kent’s. Sam feels his bottom lip tremble and hides his face once more.
“Dad…” Vincent says. “It’s not… I thought we all agreed not to yell.”
Kent crosses his arms and looks away, face bright red. Embarrassment? Anger? It’s hard to tell. Maybe it’s both. After some time, Jodi sighs.
“We think maybe you should get some counseling about this,” she says.
Sam just shakes his head. He gets up to get some water.
“Sit back down, Samson,” Kent says.
Sam rolls his eyes, then regrets it, feeling nauseous. “I’m just getting some water,” he says.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me,” Kent snaps.
“You know what?” Sam says, holding up his hands. “I don’t need this. I’m going out.”
Kent stands. “You are not.”
Jodi sighs.
“Sam, please don’t run away,” Vincent says, looking at him with pleading eyes.
Sam’s heart breaks for him, but he walks out of the kitchen and out of the house, ignoring Kent’s angry demands for him to come back.
He doesn’t need this. Maybe he doesn’t even need them. But where to go? He figures if they go looking for him, they’d find him at the saloon or at Sebastian’s. He doesn’t know where he’ll go, but it’ll be anywhere but home.
Sam ends up going to Joja with plans to buy a nice, cold six pack. Shane is working today and he does see him, but he doesn’t say anything. Shane knows a bit of what he’s going through, having gone through his own recovery journey. He still drinks, but it’s nothing like it was before. Nothing at all. For his part, Sam refuses to make eye-contact and barely acknowledges Shane with more than a “Hey,” before picking out the cheapest beer and heading to the register, face burning with shame.
He leaves Joja and heads north, automatically following the path to Sebastian’s house, but he thinks better of it. He has no idea if Sebastian had any idea about the intervention, but if Sam shows up with a pack of beer, he figures Sebastian just might stage another one. Maybe. He doesn’t know if Sebastian cares too much about him these days. Maybe he should stash the beer somewhere and try to reach out, but… when he tries, he just can’t seem to let it go.
He decides to hang out by the river and drink. People don’t usually come by the river in the north of town. Too far out of the way. He doesn’t know what time it is, but it certainly is morning, and the shame only intensifies as he takes his first sip. He almost spits it out. Perhaps he should’ve invested in a higher quality beer. Oh well, he has what he has.
Being the middle of Summer, it’s hot beyond belief. He takes off his shoes and sticks his feet in the water. Quite refreshing. A few beers later and he finds himself feeling bored. But he’s a bit stuck. He can’t really put his shoes back on until his feet dry. The shame had dissipated though, and, feeling warm and fuzzy from his buzz, he decides to walk to the forest barefoot. Not wanting any strange looks, though, he sneaks around and decides to take the path through the farmer’s land. Luckily, the only person to see him on his way was the farmer himself.
“Howdy,” the farmer says to him, eyeing first the beer in his hand and then his bare feet. “Having a fun day?”
Sam smiles and nods. He gives him a finger gun with his spare hand, says, “You know it,” then keeps walking until he makes it to the dock at the lake. He sits on the edge and takes in a deep breath. Relief washes over him and he drinks another beer, then another, then another. Then he’s out and trying to decide whether to go back to Joja to buy more. He puts his socks on over his now filthy feet then puts on his shoes, stands and almost falls into the lake. Dangerous maneuver, standing while so drunk, apparently. He decides he’ll go home and rest, but as he walks by his home, a bit wobbly, he can’t get himself to go in. They can’t see him like this again.
To Sebastian’s, then.
When he shows up at Sebastian’s door, he doesn’t just walk in like he normally would. No, feeling apprehensive, he knocks.
“Working,” Sebastian yells.
“Too busy for little old me?” Sam yells back.
A bit of time passes before the door opens. Sebastian looks him up and down.
“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”
Sam doesn’t say anything.
“Man…” Sebastian says. “Alright.” He steps aside and lets Sam into his room.
Some time passes before Sam can work up the courage to say anything. When he does, he finds that his throat is so dry, he can hardly speak. Dehydration. He never got that water, did he? Maybe he should’ve had some of the lake water. Hmm, on second thought, probably not.
“Could I have some water?”
Sebastian looks up from his computer. “You know where the cups are.”
“Yes, but… I’m not sure who’s home and…”
“You don’t want the world to see you?”
Sam cracks a smile. “No, I don’t think that they’d understand.”
“Fair enough,” Sebastian says, rising out of his chair.
As soon as he’s out of the room, Sam looks at Sebastian’s bed and thinks it looks rather inviting. Soft. Warm. Should he? Sure, why not. He snuggles up in the bed and before Sebastian even gets back, he’s out like a light.
He wakes hours later with a pounding headache. The room is mostly dark, but Sebastian left the TV on. Sam looks around and sees a glass of water on the dresser behind the bed. He drinks it so fast it upsets his stomach. He clenches his fists and tries desperately not to throw up, but he can feel it coming. Holding his hand to his mouth, he rushes to the bathroom and, surprise surprise, he vomits his guts out. There’s blood again. Bright red. Nothing to worry about for now. He’s always had a bit of a weak stomach.