One drink, two drinks, three that always finished with empty bottles on Butcher’s floors. His eyes open during the dawn of night, when silence was all he could hear and think about. When the face of his dead wife flashed inside his brain and all he could do was curse like a sailor.

Because that’s what Billy does; hide his secrets, his feelings, act like everything is alright. Because it is alright, because it’s nothing.

And even with all the help you give him, all the pushes to his back, Billy would never change. He lost the greatest love of his life after all, you’re not sure if you can blame his attitude. Everyone grieved in different manners and you were aware of that; denial, rage, sadness.

And even when Billy uses you during the night to forget about everything, when he whispers the name to his wife in your ears, when his hands are firm against your body; you can’t blame him.

Not when all you want to do is help him, no matter if it hurts you — not matter if it breaks your heart in million of pieces.

Because you love him — you truly do. You can’t tell if the man knows or if you hide it well, the others can see it. They see your puffy eyes when they look at you, they can see your broken heart, they can see it all and yet, you do nothing to hide it as well.

Billy isn’t someone for you — you know that. And he would never love you, he knows that.

So in the dead of night, his arm around your body; the smoke of a cigarette makes you cough. Billy gives you a side glance, face firm, head filled with thoughts. “You ’nd I, it’s not real. You know that, right?” he suddenly says like the words wouldn’t hurt you deeply.

He shift on the bed, the sheets following the movement of his body when he sits up, towering over you.

“It won’t ever work, and m’not made for this, sweetheart.”

Of course you knew that already, and yet, your heart tighten inside your chest. You have to convince yourself that everything is alright, it’s the only way.