I gulped down another glass of whisky. It must have been my sixth one so far. Or was it my seventh? I don't know why I even bothered to start counting in the first place, the distinction now seems mundane. I still wasn't used to drinking that stuff. My lips burned, and I couldn't help but reel as it slid down my throat.
Maybe I'll have another...
I reached for another glass, but abruptly stopped when my eyes caught the picture on the TV screen. Was this some kind of joke? It was as if the whole world was out to taunt me. I hesitantly turned the volume up to listen to the report.
"...Today we mourn the death of a local woman who was tragically taken from us last Thursday. The police have revealed that the attack was sexually motivated. The murderer's body was found nearby to where the attack took place. The evidence suggests he soon committed suicide after carrying out the murder."
I slung my glass at the TV, then kicked it straight off the stand. As if I needed reminding... Ignoring the throbbing pain in my foot I started to pace around the room, then stopped at one of the portraits that hung near the window. I couldn't bring myself to throw it out. There she sat in full watercolor, looking up towards the sky as if she had been caught in a daydream.
"Emily..."
Now that she was gone, what did I have left? A lifetime full of regrets? I'd never get to see justice done to the killer either... The bastard died on his own terms... It wasn't fair...
I hobbled over to the kitchen and scrounged through the cupboard. I eventually found what I was looking for and took the bottle of prescription painkillers from the medical box.
This was for the best...
I unscrewed the bottle and poured the pills down my throat, grabbing the bottle of whisky to wash it down.
I never did like whisky...