I will find the enemy within, 'cause I can feel it crawl beneath my skin. Dear agony, just let go of me, suffer slowly. Is this the way it's got to be? Don't bury me, faceless enemy. I'm so sorry. Is this the way it's got to be? Dear agony…Somewhere far beyond this world, I feel nothing anymore…
Alexa cupped her hands under the water flowing from the shower head and wet her face. She let the water drench her body, her hair. She was finally relaxing. Just what she needed right now. She reached out to the corner of the shower.
Damn.
She'd forgotten to buy shampoo.
Some of Adam's was still in the shower, though. She fumbled with the black bottle, trying not to let it slip from her wet hands. She poured some shampoo into her palm. It smelled like him. A smell she was very familiar with and had grown to love. A very fresh scent but slightly musky. She lathered her hair and rinsed it. Repeated the action a second time. The water was alternating from hot to cold every few moments. But she'd been here for nearly 6 months so she was used to it. The water and electricity in this apartment always sucked. God, this place really was a shithole. But she didn't care right now. She just needed a shower.
She had been drawing earlier and the water rinsed away the charcoal from her fingers, creating a black ring around the drain. She let the water run over her face and down her body, making her feel rejuvenated.
She ran her fingers down the length of her long, dark brown hair. A bit of blond was peeking through from when she'd bleached a strip of her hair to dye it pink last year. She never bothered dyeing it back to her natural color once it had faded. Every now and then she thought about dyeing it pink again. Adam had loved it. When her hair was down, the wavy locks cascading messily over her pale and freckled shoulders, the pink showed through brightly. It made her look a bit edgy, kind of punk. Like a cool rocker chick. All features that Adam was very attracted to.
Having pondered the idea once more, she decided to dye it again. Soon, possibly.
She was startled when she heard the apartment door open. The sound of keys hitting the coffee table. Adam was home.
The knob on the bathroom door shook and clicked as the door creaked open. Alexa made a mental note to have the superintendent downstairs have a look at it.
He stepped into the bathroom, his slender body casting a shadow that created a silhouette on the transparent, but foggy, shower curtain.
She stopped, listening.
"Adam?"
A pause, that seemingly felt like forever, then finally,
"Hey."
His voice was low and quiet. Kind of dark.
"How was work?"
Alexa tried to see what the problem, made apparent by the sound of his voice, was.
Another long pause.
"Fine."
Adam had been working at an independent photography agency for a few months now. It wasn't exactly the type of work her was in to, but at least he was doing something that he was remotely interested in. And it paid the bills, so there wasn't much to complain about.
"Same as always."
His voice was a bit muffled over the sound of the shower. Alexa was tired of trying.
"Oh."
The mirror cabinet above the sink opened with a click. She heard some rustling around, then the sound of a pill bottle falling to the floor.
"Fuck."
Adam was prone to migraines. They started out as occasional headaches and progressed to migraines occurring at least once a month, sometimes so intense it made it impossible for him to get out of bed and get to work. Sometimes he'd vomit.
Alexa nearly had to beg him to see his doctor. But he could be so stubborn. It eventually got to the point where he had no choice, and his physician had prescribed him sumatriptan to treat the migraines.
She heard him place the pills back in the cabinet.
"I'll be back later," he sighed.
She knew where he had to go. Adam sometimes did freelance work. It was kind of shady though; sort of like private investigation. He basically got paid to follow around guys whose wives suspected them of cheating and things of that nature. He didn't particularly enjoy this line of work either; it was pretty sketchy. But he got paid good money for it. And at least he was taking photos. Just about the only thing he was passionate about.
"Don't wait up."
He spoke with hardly any emotion. It frightened Alexa. He seemed so empty. She paused.
"Alright."
Her voice was raspy. She cleared her throat, trying with all her might not to start crying.
"Well, g—"
The door shut closed.
"…good luck," she finished her sentence with a monotonous voice. She broke down. Tears ran down her already wet face, blending with the water from the shower. She turned off the stream and leaned against the dark blue tiled wall, feeling stupid. Feeling childish. She was 24 years old for God's sake. Not a toddler. She hated that he made her feel this way. But she hated even more how she let herself get this way. She loved him so goddamn much that she didn't even care about all the hate she felt inside. Love and hate. She felt like a walking contradiction.
She wiped her face and reached her hand out from behind the curtain for a towel. She felt around but didn't feel the one she had hung earlier. She stuck her head out from behind the curtain, her hair dripping water onto the off-white tile, seeing that her towel had fallen to the floor. She leaned over, feet still in the tub, to pick it up. She grabbed it, and when she raised her head, she noticed something on the sink.
Adam's wallet.
And his Marlboros.
He was so forgetful sometimes.
She stood back up in the shower and grasped her hair, ringing out all the water, watching it go down the rusty drain. She zoned out for just a moment, thinking about Adam.
Remembering when they'd first met, first started dating, the first time they'd said they loved each other, when he'd asked her to move in; all happy memories. They would bond over things like music and books and movies. Go to concerts together almost every other weekend. They had similar tastes in music, each with an affinity for rock. Alexa was into 2000s alternative and 90s grunge—her guilty pleasure was Breaking Benjamin— while Adam liked hardcore metal and classic punk. (He had at least 4 or 5 Ramones t-shirts, which Alexa had a habit of stealing to sleep in.) They'd playfully argue about what to put on the radio in the car. She'd tune into 92.9, cranking it when "Smells Like Teen Spirit" would come on. And he'd turn it down, saying "But, Lex, you can't understand a damn word the guy is saying!" She'd laugh and try to find another station, both of them ultimately shutting up when a Led Zeppelin or Pixies song would come on. She remembered the way he'd place his right hand on her knee, the other on the steering wheel, his fingers tapping along with the beat of the song.
Now they drove practically in silence, no touching, no music. It was uncomfortable.
She remembered the way he'd look at her when she spoke. The way he'd laugh at her sarcastic remarks. Flashing his perfect smile at her, his blue-green eyes sparkling. The way he spoke about photography, about music, about anything. Just his voice. His voice, always full of vigor and passion.
But it was different now.
He just seemed so empty. Like a shell. A broken shell of a man that used to be bursting with life and joy and hope.
It hurt her to think of how things had changed and how unhappy they were. But it hurt her even more to think about leaving him. She loved him. Despite all the bad between them, she couldn't help but love him. And she knew he loved her. Even though most days it went unspoken.
Suddenly the door swung open again.
Adam returning for his forgotten belongings.
Reaching for his wallet and cigarettes on the sink he simply said,
"Forgot these."
And with that, he was gone. Didn't even look at her. She may as well have been invisible. With the sound of the apartment door slamming, she broke down again. It took much longer for her to stop sobbing this time.