Sunday, February 12th - Late Evening
He'd started drinking shortly after dawn.
Long ago the full moon had brought him joy, Bill remembered that. Remembered laying next to Fleur on a blanket under the light of the moon, making love with only the stars to witness.
He looked down at the empty bottle in his hand and then leaned over to set it on the table next to his recliner. The bottle landed poorly, bounced off several other empties and fell off the table. He heard it shatter on the hard wood floor.
"Fuck it." Bill wasn't positive if he bent over to pick up the pieces that he'd be able to get back up again, much less keep from cutting himself to ribbons. "What's another scar or two on this body?" he snorted to the empty cabin.
His hand fell toward the cooler on the other side of his chair and rooted around until he found one of remaining bottles in his dwindling supply.
The moons were getting worse. There was no longer any way to deny it.
The changes were gradual at first, creeping upon him oh so slowly. There had always been some pain and irritability. Always the anger, knowing that his life had been so completely changed in the span of one night. It got harder and harder to keep his temper around Fleur. She represented his old life, when he was handsome and successful and... normal.
Every moon brought further proof that he was a freak. He wasn't an untainted human any longer, yet not a werewolf. His body wanted the change, craved it - but could never have it. It was like an addiction he could never appease.
Over the years as he shut himself away from the world there was no one around to notice that his temper would explode at the slightest thing. That his joints would begin to ache just a little bit sooner and the pain would stay a tad longer. That he had to shave more, got cravings for barely cooked meat during the middle of the night when the moon was high.
Sometimes, during the dead of night when the light of the fucking moon lit up his dark bedroom and he writhed on the bed, body aching and waiting for something that would never come, mind tortured with thoughts of what it would be like to run free through the woods and hunt... sometimes he envied Remus. To be able to escape into blessed mindlessness...
Not that he'd ever admitted that to another living soul.
Over the years the tension in his body had begun to take its toll and by the time the moon was high in the sky Bill would be convinced that this time would be the one, that he was about to crawl out of his skin and part of him would welcome it.
That's when Bill knew he was in serious trouble.
Surely he losing his mind.
There was no way he could go through that again, not yet anyway, not until he was sure he wasn't going crazy. Hence the self-medication. Drink until you can't feel or think, let it wash your troubles away.
"'sellent motto, that is. Drink up, me harties, yo ho!" Bill lifted his bottle in toast, spilling some of the beer on his hand. He tipped the bottle back and drained it, tossing it in the general direction of the side table and not caring when it too shattered.
The fire in the grate was almost hypnotic and he watched it for a long time until his eyelids grew heavy.
Heavy snores permeated the cabin as the lone occupant fell into a fitful sleep.