JACKSON

The bourbon was cheap; it was the kind that burned through going down and leaving smoke in my chest. Smoke came out of my ears and nose and I welcomed the burn.

I pour it down my throat, one glass after another, and line them up like girls on the counter. One, two, three, four, and by the fifth, my eyes were already glassy. The world had almost faded. It softened up enough that I could now pretend.

Pretend I wasn’t the headline of a false scandal. Pretend I wasn’t alone in ...