Page 16 of Essence of Fear

“Could we not put labels on … all of this?” Viktoria said, gesturing with one hand at herself like that was going to explain it. “I don’t like that.”

“No labels, then, but I do think there are some medications that would help to ease some of your problems that are causing other issues to be made worse. Treating things like the anxiety and depression with meds could ease things elsewhere.”

“I don’t want to take medications.”

“You do know mental illness isn’t cured by a cold demeanor and shutting yourself away from the rest of the world, right? You can put on the mask for everyone at the beginning of each day, Viktoria, but when you take it off, you’re still going to be the same woman underneath it all. And that woman needs help.”

Viktoria continued staring out the window. “So be it.”

“All right, since this is a dead-end and I know better than to keep pushing, let’s talk about these nightmares.”

Great.

• • •

“Nope, not strong enough,” Viktoria muttered, passing the wine despite the fact their pretty labels and shiny bottles on the shelves all but beckoned her to come closer. She was going to need something with a far higher percentage of alcohol to get her through the night. “Vodka, vodka, vodka …”

She was sure the woman at the other end of the aisle in the liquor store thought she was crazier than hell, and honestly, the woman wouldn’t be entirely wrong. After spending an entire hour with Cindy to discuss her nightmares in great detail, the only thing Viktoria could currently feel was a deep, thumping fear in her chest. It echoed with every single beat of her heart and felt like it might be trying to crawl up her throat.

She didn’t want meds to deal with this.

But she would drink it away.

Drink the fear away …

Was it healthy?

Probably not.

Did she have a problem?

Not yet.

She only resorted to alcohol to help her get through a night like the one she knew would be coming that evening when nothing else would do. Before Konstantin moved out, she’d felt comfortable enough to try and push through it because she’d known he would be just one room over.

But after verbally reliving those nightmares with Cindy because the therapist was sure it would help to stop them on some level—it wouldn’t—she had no doubt they would be doubling their appearances in her dreams tonight.

Best way to fix that was to drink so much she wouldn’t dream. Yeah, that was a real thing. She’d drink until she blacked out, wake up with one hell of a fucking hangover, and move the hell on like nothing had happened.

Hopefully, it would be enough.

Viktoria wasn’t sure it would be.

What else could she do?

The woman stocking shelves at the other end of the aisle passed Viktoria one more look. Viktoria didn’t even bother to hide the glare that time. The woman’s eyes widened and she quickly picked up the empty box on the floor and left.

Good. Now it’s just me and my problems.

Viktoria turned her attention to the rows of vodka on the shelf. She was smart about this—she knew better than to keep liquor in her house, which was kind of fucked up in a way. She was all too aware that she would absolutely overdo it if she had easy access to liquor. She would quickly find herself with a problem, then.

Instead, she made it more difficult on herself by forcing herself to buy liquor. Which meant going out … entering a store and being around people. She didn’t like doing that—didn’t like the idea that she might have to talk to a strange man who gave her a bad vibe. Although, all men she didn’t know gave her that vibe.

She was quick to find the vodka she preferred—Grey Goose. It would probably kill her father a little inside to know she didn’t like his favorite brand of vodka. Russians had their ways, after all, but she needed something a little smoother than the brand he liked. At least with her Grey Goose, she could mix it strongly with something else and drink it down fast. It wasn’t like she actually liked the taste of liquor. She just liked the way it allowed her to sleep without—

The ring of her phone stopped Viktoria’s inner monologue, which frankly, was probably for the better. She didn’t need to keep trying to justify to herself why she was drinking or how it wasn’t a problem.

One didn’t need to drink all day, every day, to have an issue.