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The croupier– Bertil had not paid attention to her name– took a deep breath, exhaled, and spun the wheel. Red, black, red, black, in an alternating sequence of coloured spaces. The ticking noise of the wheel was getting on Bertil’s nerves, forcing its way into his ear drums and rattling his already pounding head. His eyes were dry, blood-shot and flitting over the coloured, spinning surface.
“Black! House takes all!” She announces, and he feels his stomach drop. He’d done it again. He relapsed, and for what? Tuplajuuso’s eyes met his, and he felt real, genuine fear cut through the bitter taste of self loathing. Fuck. He needed to leave. He needed a drink, but primarily he needed to get out– before the man, who was at least double his size, got his hands on him.
Letting out a near hysterical, nervous laughter, Bertil turned around and sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him, out of the casino. His brain was muddled. 10 000, an amount that couldn’t exactly change his life– but could certainly improve it. How? How had he lost? How could he let himself fall back into such a dirty, horrid habit? Eight months, eight months spent trying to beat the craving with anything he could get his hands on– for nothing.
He needed a drink.
The bartender gave him a surveying look, before giving him what he ordered: a double vodka on the rocks. Who would ever order a drink of vodka? He didn’t trust himself to throw down a shot after the distance he had just run, but he also had no intention of slowing down his inebriance any further. He put the glass to his lips, closed his eyes at the cool sensation and then gulped down what he thought must be about a shot.
It was clearly a cheap vodka– the taste lingering in his mouth as the alcohol burned harshly down his throat. In the moment, it did not matter to Bertil. He knew he should tell Dan-Ole, but he also knew that telling him would mean crushing his trust once more. Hurting Dan-Ole was the last thing he ever wanted to do… but keeping it from him would only hurt him further. To get the braves to confess, though, Bertil would no doubt need to be just bordering on the edge of blacking out.
He felt afraid, for the first time in a long time; afraid of what Tuplajuusto would do if he caught him.
Right on queue, Dan-Ole waltzed into the pub, Eva-Lisa hanging onto his arm and giggling into his neck. Bertil felt sick at the sight. Then, he felt sick at himself. This is what they came here to do; to get Dan-Ole out of his shell, to help him meet someone, and he had! How could he feel disdainful in any way, when he had made his friend go on the trip in the first place?
He downed the rest of his drink, making a face and shuddering as the cheap vodka burned his throat. Then, he tried his best to sneak out on his lightly-wobbling legs, feeling somewhat like a newborn deer– though he mentally sneered at the comparison. Comparing an animal used to portray innocence to himself, a newly-relapsed gambling addict with alcohol problems. He let out a loud snort, before covering his mouth with his hand and stumbling out of sight from Dan-Ole and his newfound interest.