His head was pounding.

What had happened?

Roberto Montoya groaned as he slowly opened his eyes. The stained walls of the cheap motel he was staying in were vaguely familiar. From his peripheral vision, he saw the red numbers of the alarm clock. It was already past three. The maroon carpet he had been sleeping on scratched against his left cheek as he rolled over onto his back. A cockroach the size of a watermelon seed crawled across the popcorn ceiling and he closed his eyes.

"What the hell happened?" he held his head between his hands as he struggled to sit up. He remembered going to an AA meeting but that was it. Everything else was a blur. His mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. He stood up and leaned against the wall. Had someone drugged him? Impossible. He was a detective.

Former detective, his thoughts taunted him. He shook his head. This was only temporary. Soon, he'd be back on the job and Gladys would be back in his arms. He just needed to straighten himself out.

A knock at the door acted like a hammer pounding against his head. He licked his lips and grimaced, "Who is it?"

"It's me, Omar. Omar Price," came the reply from the other side of the door.

Roberto stared blankly at the wooden door. Who the hell was Omar Price? He made his way to the door and opened it, still not recognizing the overly handsome man in glasses at his door, "Do I know you?"

Omar's smile faltered, "We met yesterday at the AA meeting. You said you needed a sponsor...so here I am."

"I did?" Roberto mumbled, still trying to manage his hangover.

"You did and by the looks of you, it seems as though I could've come in handy last night," Omar pushed his way past Roberto and into the small motel room. "This is sad. I know you said you were separated from you wife, but is this the best you could do?"

"What?"

Omar held up a brown paper bag, "I brought you a gift."

"Listen, I don't know what happened between you and me, but I don't swing that way. You can keep your gift to yourself. Not that I have anything against you...but I'm married and I love my wife. I mean if I did like guys, sure you'd be up there...but-"

Omar laughed, "What are you talking about?"

"You coming here with a gift. I'm sorry, but I don't remember what happened. Wait a minute," Roberto thought about his memory loss. Sure, he'd been drunk before but never to the point where he'd lost more than half a day. Did you drug me?"

This time, Omar didn't laugh. His eyes narrowed, "You think I would do that? After I agreed to be your sponsor? Why? What motive could I possibly have?"

Roberto felt his cheeks heat up as he looked away and mumbled an apology. Omar lightly tossed the bag he was carrying at Roberto's feet.

"I was going to help you with your relapse plan. I'm not sure what's your problem but clearly you were having a night with him," he pointed to an empty bottle of Jack Daniels, "Whether you want the help or not is up to you."

"I-I'm sorry," Roberto repeated. "I don't even know what happened. I must've passed out."

"That happens when you drink too much."

Roberto bent over and picked up the bag, pulling out the contents. It was a dark grey journal.

"It's good to keep a journal of how you're feeling and who you're hanging out with. That way you can recognize triggers and learn to stay away from them."

The leather journal felt heavy in Roberto's hand, "I've never kept a diary before."

"It's a journal but you can call it whatever you want as long as you use it," Omar answered. "Alcohol can take over your life, Roberto. I know. I've been there. I've seen it happen to too many friends. I'd hate to see it happen to you as well."

"You lost your friends? Mine seem to have forgotten me. Even my partner," Roberto whispered.

Omar shrugged, "Family. Friends. You name it. Don't be too hard on them. Everyone's dealing with their own crap."

"How did you deal with it?"

Omar looked away and stared at the pattern of light on the red carpet that shone through the cheap blinds of the hotel room, "I paint. It's different for everyone. Everyone has their own outlet."

Roberto held up the journal, "Thanks for this. I'll use it. Maybe it'll be my outlet."

Omar grinned, "You do that."

After giving Roberto his contact information and helping him create a relapse plan, Omar turned to leave the motel room. His hand was on the doorknob when he said, "Roberto, do you really not remember what happened last night?"

Roberto glanced up from the elaborate plan they had just come up with, "What was that?"

Omar sighed, "Nothing. Just...be careful alright? The devil uses us when we're at our weakest."

"What?"

Omar didn't answer. Instead he held his hand up in farewell and left Roberto to ponder his last statement.

Roberto's phone buzzed and he picked it up. There were several missed phone calls from Jax and Gladys. He called Gladys back immediately.

"What the hell were you thinking, Roberto? If you believe flaunting yourself with other women is going to make me want you back, think again. Don't text me ever again!" Gladys' voice shouted from the other end of the phone.

She disconnected the call before he could speak. He tried calling her back, but he was sent straight to voicemail. Roberto checked his text messages. Pictures of him with other women drinking at some random bar he didn't recognize had been sent to Gladys. The last few shots were of him and a woman sitting on what he assumed was a park bench because of the jungle gym in the background. Roberto tossed his phone on the bed and rubbed his temples, praying it would bring back his memories. He felt sick to his stomach, not being able to remember. He just hoped he hadn't done anything he would regret.