A rose is a rose

It is going to be minus 7 Celsius tomorrow.

It feels like "real' winter just started kicking in, and the snow storm that the weather man has been warning us about for the past three weeks might finally happen. I sit at the corner of an office watching S running back and forth with files, cheerfully speaking on the phone and to the others in the office, stepping out for smoke-break every twenty minutes. Woke up in a foul mood this morning, probably because I didn't really sleep last night. I have been invisible since the alarm clock went off at 7:30AM. It is Saturday.

"What has changed?" Someone asked me a few days ago.

"The weather."

"What are you waiting for?"

"A miracle."

After almost fortnight of ethanol-free, a bell tolled in my head as we got into the car last night. "I am going to get a couple of beer for me. No fun to drink in public."

I said nothing.

"Are you shocked?"

"No."

"You look shocked."

"Do I?"

"You act so strange sometimes. You drank yesterday."

"I had half of a glass of white wine while waiting for my take-out food." -- I had a half of a glass, it wasn't wine.

"And you heard me complaining about this?"

"No."

Another voice popped in my head:"Do you like alcohol-free S.?"

"I like alcohol-free S."

"Do you drink yourself?"

"Occasionally."

"How would you expect him to be alcohol-free?"

"What is the difference between driving manually and putting it into auto-pilot?"

"What?"

"The auto-pilot one doesn't know how to stop manually."

"What?"

To prevent myself from having another "accident", I jumped straight into the shower after we got into the flat. I hate the sound when the cap being cracked open by a bottle opener, or a lighter, or another bottle of beer, or whatever. I heard nothing under the shower; I smelt the cigarette smoke coming under the bathroom door; I stayed in the shower as long as I could, told myself it was under the term of "m-o-d-e-r-a-t-i-o-n-" when someone took one liter of 5% alcohol, it was Friday night; he never drank and drove; he hadn't been drinking at all for 13 days... but why this rotten feeling in my stomach?

Lying on my tummy under the blanket, I pretended to read. He walked in and sat in front of TV for half an hour before going to bed. Nothing more happened. My never-ending-shower has given him time to finish half a liter and one cigarette; I found the other bottle sitting in the fridge. But I didn't sleep last night. Why didn't I sleep last night?

If the withdraw syndrome ever happens, wouldn't it be at the beginning instead of two weeks after? He had exhibited no freak-outs or shaking; we had gotten along better than ever, so why this one bottle of beer threw me off the balance?

I fear this is the end of his whim and the alcohol-over-saturated S will be back in no time, maybe even this afternoon; I fear my next "accident" would worsen the case; I fear my thoughts of leaving would continue to grow; I fear the miracle that I have been anticipating would never come.

A text message was sent to me :" ... a rose is a rose is."