Dominic had never been drunk.
He couldn't fathom whether there was any truth to the poets' claim that a deep drink could wash away a world of sorrow.
He was a sober man by habit, a paragon of rationality.
He knew that when life threw a curveball, you had to swing at it—escaping was never the solution.
So, even when pain nipped at his heels, he never let it out.
Once, when he saw Harrison drowning in gloom, the guy would chain-smoke like a chimney, one cigarette after another.
Dominic had asked him, "Does smoking really help you blow off steam?"
Harrison had dared him to try it, but Dominic never did.
He didn't plan on drinking that day either, for he neither drank nor smoked, but his heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice.
The bright lights stretched his tall, imposing shadow across the carpet.
Even that shadow seemed to drip with loneliness.
Staring at the bottle of whiskey in Evelyn's hand, its cap already discarded, his broad shoulders slumped as he said, "Maybe I'll have a couple of drinks."
With that, he reached for the bottle.
Evelyn clutched the bottle tightly to her chest.
"Dominic, I didn't really come here to get you to drink. Booze is bad for you. I just wanted an excuse to see you, to keep you company. Don't actually drink it."
Dominic wrestled the bottle from her protective grasp and plopped down on the couch.
Without a word, he tilted his head back and took a hefty swig.
"Cough, cough!"
The liquor was fierce, and he wasn't used to it.
Dominic choked.
Evelyn, feeling a pang of pity, quickly patted his back and went to pour him some water.
By the time she returned with the water, the 750ml whiskey bottle was down to its last third.
His coughing had turned his eyes red.
Evelyn's heart ached as she tried to snatch the bottle away. "Dominic, stop drinking."
Dominic took the bottle over Evelyn's head, dodging her grab, and got it back in front of him.
He took another two gulps.
If the pain could be forgotten, even briefly, then let him be drunk tonight.
Evelyn was regretting bringing the alcohol.
"Dominic, don't do this, it's killing me to watch," Evelyn was on the verge of tears.
She knew that he couldn't handle alcohol well, and drinking too much would surely upset his stomach.
"Dominic, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have tempted you with alcohol. Please stop."
She clawed at his arm.
But the difference in strength between men and women is vast.
No matter how she tried to stop him, the booze kept disappearing into Dominic.
He seemed set on indulging himself, on drowning his sorrows, his eyes full of pain.
His gaze met hers, and tears swirled in her eyes before spilling over.
Dominic asked, "President Miller, I'm a mess. What on earth do you see in me?"
"I can't put my finger on it, but I just do. To me, you're the best there is."
Evelyn finally wrested the bottle away, holding it tight, away from his reach.
But there wasn't much left to drink.
He'd nearly polished off the entire bottle of whiskey.
Evelyn worried his stomach couldn't handle it. "Dominic, are you feeling okay? Is your stomach hurting? Want some milk?"
The alcohol was too strong.
He'd drunk too fast.
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