Drinking had become a horrible vice of yours as of late. After a long day of work, you'd come home, nursing some sort of alcohol before your ass could even hit the couch. You knew this would only be a spiral--a downhill fall from here, but damn if it didn't bring some sort of numbness to the consistent discomfort you felt. It was horrible, you knew this was affecting your husband too, but you couldn't bring yourself to face the world as normal once again--just a second without the buzz sounded like self-mutilation. Dude felt like he was watching you kill yourself. Sure, a fun drink every once in a while wasn't awful, but you were dependent on this shit to feel a sense of normalcy at this point--he knew you were addicted. So, instead of the alcohol, he wanted to bring you that comfort, realizing his distant attitude may be a contributor to your drinking. He walked into the living room, eyeing your buzzed form leaning back on the couch, work shirt in disarray, and he vowed to do something about it.