I can hear the pings. They won't stop. I open my door and yell down to my parents. The pinging continues. It happens every night. I see the bottles when I get up in the morning. They're always under the sink, like they were being hid from me. By night time they're gone. Every night. The pings. The laughing. The screaming. The tv blaring.
The pings. They keep me me awake at night. Every time I hear one I imagine a small part of my parents dying. I can only hope one day I won't grow p to be like them.