Heath could not decide on a specific place, and merely walked along the broken concrete. Bottle in hand he called out to the male who had unknowingly run to catch up with him.
“Yeah! I heard it was some sort of ritualistic thing.” Heath spoke loudly as if the male was drifting off behind him. Turning the gold eyed male found Silas right beside him. Heath stumbled a step sideways and as he regained his balance added,
“Something like that.” his words were thick with the native French accent that the booze pulled from his past.
The open air was cool and refreshing, chilling his face and calming the buzz of the alcohol that filtered through his mind. He felt clearer out in the open, and as they walked Heath came to remember why he had come here in the first place. It wasn’t a painful remembrance, the hurt dulled by the vodka, and he could only reflect on it without brash emotion.
“We love the same woman.” Heath added, matter-of-factly as if they had been talking about it the entire time.