TRVE CVLT: Choice 3
You don’t want to puke, but you absolutely do not want to go out there. Not right now. So you take a deep breath and do your best to recenter yourself. Black Sabbath’s Black Sabbath plays through your mind for solace, but it’s no use.
You drop to your knees, feeling around the darkness. You consider taking off your shoes and doing what needs to be done, but it doesn’t come to that. Your fingertips graze a wooden bowl behind you, wedged into the corner. The song continues to play in your mind. The distorted riffs pound at your booze-addled brain. Your stomach. Sweat drenches your forehead and slicks your back. You feel it—Oh, noooo—and fill the offering plate with sour sludge.
There’s a hushed silence outside of the makeshift vestry as the organ music stops. Slowly, the realization of where you are becomes perfectly clear.
You wipe your mouth and blow your nose on one of the robes. All that’s left to do is ride out the rest of the service and sneak home. You feel around for one of the bottles and uncap the screw-on lid. A little bit of the hair of the dog while you wait.
You swish and spit the first couple of gulps, but then you take a long pull from the blood of Christ. The door opens. The light pouring in around the pastor is offensive. He looks at you—at the offering plate at your feet, vile fumes rising to meet his upturned nose, and mutters a disappointed, “Jesus Christ.” He takes the bottle from your hand. “Go take a walk.”
You think about apologizing, but all that comes out is, “Hey, dad.”
Oof. – go to 5
