-drunk-

    Paul crouched over the toilet bowl. I stood outside and heard torturous sounds of vomiting. I wondered what had possessed my stable boyfriend to get himself drunk for the first time in at least ten years. He stayed in the washroom for at least thirty minutes. When I heard silence, I walked in and found Paul sprawled unceremoniously over the seat, his legs bent at an awkward angle.

    I wiped his face and flushed the toilet bowl. I tried to hoist his limp body up. Staggering, I brought him over to the bed. He tried to open his eyes. "I'm sorry, Di," he said weakly, slurring his words. "Just thatŠ"

    I brought the rest of his limbs back into position. Paul seemed to be struggling against sleep. He kept opening and closing his mouth but nothing came out. I stared at him, exasperated and tired. "Why," I asked to his sleeping body. He was cold to the touch.