a drink and memories of a room

Mar 14, 2008 - 15:44 PM PST
the following is a short story I wrote, it may become part of a series...

He sat up just enough so that the wine wouldn’t spill all over when he took a drink. Then, he promptly returned to a slouch and continued staring into the turned off TV set. "Knock, knock, knock" came again and again, then followed by a frantic turning of the handle. "Will you cut this shit out and open the door already?!" She called out.

He sat up once more, mostly to maximize the success of his drinking, but partially to contemplate letting her in. She already knew he was there AND she had driven all the way across town to bang on HIS door. "Lucky me," he muttered before taking another large swig of his $5 shiraz.

Reluctantly, he set the wine on the corner of the table and then used that same corner to help pull himself off the couch (which was also doubling as his bed, conviently enough). After he had gotten his sense of balance, he glanced around the room, the same one he’d spent most of the past two days in.

"Thud! Thud!" Apparently, she was trying to kick the door in now. "You moth.. THUD!.. er! Son of ... THUD!... itch!" and other things of that nature were blaring from the front of the house. Maybe he should focus on that situation. It’s not as if he could see what any of this blurry mess was anyways... "If only it’d hold still for christ sakes!"

He banged his elbow on the doorframe, but more of less made it out of the living room, then turned down the hallway. "Looks all clear," he though only milliseconds before stubbing his toe on some books. "Fuck, my foot!" he cried out.

"I hear you asshole! Open this fucking door right now!" she screamed between pounding on the door. It must have been quite the sight from the main road... this girl trying her damndest to get into this house, all while raving and screaming obscenities... maybe you’d have to know what she looks like to get it.

He was on his way to open the door... "jesus, how unpatient could she be?" he thought. (Of course, he was well aware of what she was capable of). As soon as he turned the lock, she was in. She started hitting his chest in between her sobbing (and sometimes during). She would scream things like "how could you do this to me, you son of a bitch?" He definately remembered hearing that one.

What could he possibly be doing to her?! He hadn’t spoken to anyone for five... maybe six days, and her?! He hadn’t even heard her voice since last Winter. Did he have some mysterious powers to transcend space and time for the sole purpose of fucking up HER life??? That was the last thing he wanted; she was the one who couldn’t stay out of his thoughts for more than a few minutes at a time.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"I wasn’t aware that I was doing anything. That’s the whole point of me sinking away."

"Where do you think you’re going to go? There’s people that cared about you!"

She almost caught herself in time and her expression changed from one of anger to remorse. He knew she had meant to say it, before she had a chance to deny any of it. "I meant there ARE people that care about you!" He was already stumbling back to the living room.

He heard her start crying again and the sound of the front door shutting. After he found his way back to the couch, he used to same table corner to lower himself back onto the cushion. Then, he took another swig of the wine, laid back and returned to watching the empty television screen.

a drink and memories of a room


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1 Comments

Mar 14, 2008 - 16:42 PM

toasterheadtil on
Love this! Totally wanna hear more!