ooh ohh emm
He wakes, rolls out from under Wes's arm--
and knows, deep in his gut. Now. Not in five minutes, or hours, or tomorrow or tonight.
Now.
Time to go.
Later, he can't remember.
He can't remember when the bottle of Whyren's Reserve found its way into his hands, or where he got it from, or--
He thinks, in an abstract sort of way, that he should stop drinking.
He doesn't think he will.