Surprisingly still unlike him to pass on a socially acceptable opportunity to drink. She knew that memories of the war haunted him, particularly the loss of Fred, but he couldn’t seem to get through the day anymore without turning to some form of alcohol. As if that in itself wasn’t bad enough, he was a mean drunk. He’d never been physically violent with her but the words left different kinds of scars. The kicker was, he never remembered anything he said to her afterward, so it was easy to convince herself that it never really happened after a while. Even if he hadn’t come with them, the result would be the same regardless. He’d wake up tomorrow morning, hungover and miserable, like nothing had happened, again. 