One minute. Two. Three. Time seemed to pass in excruciatingly slow moments, and there was nothing he could do to speed it up. It was going to be a very long night. He walked into the kitchen and pulled a cold soda from the refrigerator. It wasn’t something he drank often, but it hit the spot when what he really craved was a cold beer. A cold beer and a cigarette. The two went hand in hand, and both were part of his life before. Before the bomb that had nearly killed him. Before the months he’d spent in a VA hospital. Before he’d realized that he wanted more out of life than black lungs and a pickled liver. He wanted relationships. He wanted connection. He wanted to live life without booze to numb the experience. Now, Nikolai chewed mint gum and drank soda. He faced life’s pain head-on and poured his heart out to God instead of pouring his drug of choice down his throat. That’s the decision Nikolai had made when he’d left the VA hospital. Nearly two and half years later, he hadn’t veered from it.
