The drinking became progressively worse over time. Initially I would just be an excessive social drinker, insisting upon attending every classless party in our area.

I shifted to drinking at home once she repeatedly voiced her concerns about my relentless partying. I hid bottles in creative places; underneath floorboards, seat cushions, my school bag.

My lips met the rim of a bottle more often than they met hers in a tender kiss.

I acted as though my glass of vodka was merely water, like my screwdriver was just orange juice, like my habit wasn't getting out of hand.

I got good at faking and for a while, she got good at pretending.

We didn't speak about my drinking when it became really bad. Which is preposterous as that was the time when I truly needed an intervention. I would have quit if she had demanded I choose between her and inebriation. This is what I tell myself, even today. Especially today.

I gradually failed my classes due to perpetual intoxication which only led to me drinking more to numb my disappointment.

One deceptively peaceful Tuesday I skipped university in favour of day drinking at a dive bar. I stumbled home at around noon thereafter, my clothing torn and bloodied after a brief bar fight. I didn't expect her to be home. Nor did I expect her to snap.

She yelled at me, emotional obscenities about how afraid she was to lose me, how I was pouring my life down the drain when I should have been pouring the liquor instead.

She pleaded with me to think of my future, our future. She wouldn't stop harping on about my devastation, rightfully so.

I became inexplicably and inexcusably angry. My thoughts blackened and my soul withered, my heart thundered and my eyes pierced.

I gripped her smooth, porcelain skin with my now calloused hands, her heart shaped face fitting perfectly within my grasp. A bloodlust I'll never understand washed over me; I had never appreciated so much the feeling of her delicate bones beneath my touch.

Her eyes barely registered shock before she forcefully left my hands and slammed her skull into the corner of the kitchen counter. Her neck whipped about like string and a disturbing crack emanated from her head. Only this time she wasn't wearing her helmet.

Her haemorrhaging unconsciousness came as immediate relief, followed by abject terror. I fled. I fled the apartment in search of proof that this was all a hallucination.

I didn't find my reprieve.