Everything was bullshit, today more than other days. Lip knew if he drank he'd spiral down into a huge relapse and ruin the little progress he'd made, but fuck did he need a drink.

He could call Professor Youens, or Brad, but what was the fucking point? There was so much chaos and so much drama and Lip just felt alone.

He entered a bar, ordering a whiskey and sat staring at it, his fingers twitching around the glass. The bar was dark and miserable and he suddenly felt very at home.