The Drunk Logs by Steven Kuhn

Victoria,” I returned the greeting.
    “So are you heading to get your recommended daily dose of drugs?”
    “Yeah, I decided to check, before the intercom plasters my name all over the halls.”
    “Well, I’ll walk with you, I haven’t really gotten the chance to talk to you and those Neanderthals aren’t a very good group to talk around. So what brings you here to this fine establishment?”
    My hormones were in high gear, and I knew I would struggle to resist my sexual needs.
    “I’m here for alcohol, and as you can tell by my face, I’m allergic to it,” I said, embarrassed as I pointed to my face.
    “Yeah, but the swelling has gone down from the first time I saw you. You’re starting to look better,” she said as she caressed my face with her fingers.
    “So why are you here?” I asked her.
    “Well, I’ll give you the quick version from my assessment. I’m here for alcohol and opiates, 35 years old, never been married, an elementary schoolteacher and have a problem with getting into the wrong relationships, which leads me to my use. At least that is what my assessment told me.”
    On occasion, I had been known to be blatantly straightforward, so I blurted out a question. “So, why do they call you Squirrel?”
    “Because, it’s some stupid nickname that Jack Jack came up with when I wouldn’t go along with his advances…the pig.” Her voice became strained and agitated. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”
    “So, how long are you here for?” I asked, trying to diffuse the tension.
    “40 days.”
    “Sounds like you got a lot in front of you?”
    “Yeah, but at least I’m alive.”
    Victoria wasn’t at all what I’d envisioned, and was actually quite the opposite.
    We stopped by the half-door, when I poked my head inside the nook and noticed that it was empty.
    I turned back and smiled at Victoria. “Well, this is my stop. Maybe we can talk some more, you know, away from the group.”
    “That would be nice,” Victoria said, looking as if she wanted a goodbye kiss. “I’ll see you around.”
    Left alone, I let my imagination run free.
    “You know the rules, Matt,” Molly said from behind the half-door.
    Startled, I felt my face redden.
    “How may I help you?” She smiled.
    “I was just checking to see if you guys needed to see me again, before I get ready for bed.”
    “Well, aren’t we the conscientious one? Let me see,” she said as she thumbed through her clipboard. “You’re in luck; we do need to see you one more time. You know the drill.”
    I extended my wrist as Molly checked my numbers. She pulled the door open and checked off my name. I wandered over to the blood pressure machine and slid the belt on myself; she adjusted it, and pushed the start button. A beep sounded, and the air slowly hissed from the belt. She leaned over and checked the reading.
    “You definitely have shown some improvement these last couple of days. You’re high again, but there is nothing to worry about as long as you take your medication.”
    As she prepared my medication, I lowered my head and stared at my quivering hands. Oh, how many times they have made me feel weak and infantile. I brooded, as my pride and defiance began to take hold. With one swift motion, I grabbed the cup with two fingers and gulped my medication. Confident, I took a few deep breaths and tried to calm my pounding heart.
    I headed toward the door, but before I left, Molly’s voice projected from the back, and offered a few words of wisdom.
    “Pleasure cannot be shared; like pain, it can only be experienced or inflicted, and when we give pleasure to our lovers or bestow charity upon the needy, we do so not to gratify the object of our benevolence, but only ourselves. For the truth is, that we are kind for the same reason as we are cruel, in order that we may enhance the sense of our own power.”
    I turned and stared at Molly, confused.
    “You thought I was some backwater hick, didn’t you?
    Embarrassed, I