Nov 7, 2013
He was drunk. That was really the only word for it. Completely, mind-numbingly drunk. Only problem? It didn't do a damn thing to numb his heart. After downing three bottles of whisky - and working on his fourth - everything seemed intensified. It was overwhelming, overbearing. He was two seconds away from ripping out his own heart just to stop it from hurting.Â
Instead he took another drink.Â
He was stumbling down the empty streets of storybrooke, whistling a jaunty tune with a cheery disposition he didn't feel. He was far beyond the point of caring. He'd lost his love, he'd betrayed his best friend...and for what? A good fuck? It wasn't worth this. Nothing was worth this. Because nothing had ever hurt so bad.Â
