Gary looked around his restaurant before locking up. This is what he'd always wanted... he'd always dreamed of owning his own place and making it his own; but something was missing; and he knew what that something, or someone was.
With a sigh he locked the door and went to his car. His life right now was pretty rough. The love of his life had fled to Scotland. All of his friends weren't talking to him; they blamed him for her departure. He wasn't getting much sleep; he spent a lot of his time crying at his flat. Drowning his sorrows in a bottle of scotch.
Tonight was no different. He unlocked his flat and threw his keys on the sideboard. He looked in the mirror. Who was the man who stood before him? A man with such sadness in his lonely, tired eyes. He had dark rings underneath them from lack of sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he smiled properly. An effortless smile. Well, he did, but the pain of remembering made him burst into a fresh set of tears.
He remembered what it was like to hold her, to finally kiss her. To finally have her as his own. How happy he felt when she wrapped his arms around his waist. How it felt when Mike got down on one knee and proposed... and when he followed.
He hadn't planned on proposing. But he was so scared of loosing her that it was his only option.
The option that led his best friend, the woman he loved, to run away to Scotland with his heart.
He carried on crying; anger filled him of how stupid he was and he angrily swiped at his sideboard; knocking the picture off and sending it flying into the wall. The frame and glass smashed all over his room.
He didn't know what came over him; or what caused him to get so rowdy. He went to pick up the picture and sliced his hand open on a piece of the shattered glass. He groaned and pulled it out. Deep red blood dribbling out from his wound.
He picked up the photo with his clean hand. He turned it over and carried on crying, It was at his leaving party before he went to Malaysia. They looked so happy. close together; arms wrapped around each other, smiling away, beers in hand and rather drunk.
He gently placed it on the side and went to clean up his hand. Running it under the cold water tap; then wrapping it in a bandage from the medical kit in the cupboard.
He sat at the table looking at the photo; pouring himself a large glass of whiskey. He drank it in one before pouring himself another.
He couldn't even remember the last time he had a proper meal, rather than just picking and nibbling at the restaurant.
Half a bottle of whiskey later he locked up and turned out the lights. He went through to his bedroom and pulled his shirt off of his shoulders. He yanked his jeans off and laid on his bed in just his boxers and under shirt.
He picked up the picture and smoothed his thumb over Miranda's face. he laid back and just starred at it.
He picked up his phone and looked through his messages. He went through his outbox. 375 texts; all to Miranda. Begging to know where she is. Or even to know if she' s ok. But never; a single reply.
'Miranda; please let me know if your ok... I can't do this anymore... I need you... GX'
The message sent and he threw his phone aside on the bed. He laid down and closed his eyes; not even bothering to get under the covers.
"I've got to do something..." He sighed to himself. His voice was hurt and desperate.
And do something he shall...
TO BE CONTINUED!...