He strolled out of an alley way and towards the nearest bar. This town seemed to have thousands of them. An hour ago he was on top of the world, nothing could touch him. Now, he was a dog thrown under a bus. You see it in the road, glance mournfully and say a few words, but that's it. The dog slips your mind. He pushed open the door and walked up to the counter. Greeting the bartender with his shielded eyes he placed a couple of dollars down. When the drink came, he took a large sip. Allowing the liquor to burn his throat as it went down, cleansing him temporarily. He drained the glass quickly, his tolerance for alcohol not allowing it to numb him. Hours later, there were many glasses littering the counter. He paid the bartender and left, stumbling over a chair as he made his way out.
As he entered the basement, he tripped over a star wars model, clutching the shower curtain above him for balance. The curtain gave way under his weight and he was dumped unceremoniously into the tub. The clatter roused the sleeping being in his bed. She exited his room and walked over to the old couch that took up permanent residence in the basement. She crossed her arms and faced him, her right hip leaning on the back of the yellow monstrosity. He examined her and saw that she had been crying. Although there was mascara running down her face, her eyes did not show any of the apparent sadness. The once bright miss-matched orbs showed nothing but pure anger towards him. She stepped closer only to heave him up and shove him on the couch, his left shoulder leaning upon its silvery bandage. She tore off his glasses and placed them on top of the television set, out of his reach. His eyes vulnerable as he looked up at her like a small innocent child. Her eyes showed sympathy for but a moment then hardened into a deeper hatred, narrowing slightly. His mind wandered to a different time he sat in that spot. Jackie had cried on his shoulder, forcing him to go to the prom with her. She had gotten what she wanted, she always did.
His mind floated back to he present and he found himself lying across the couch, the back of his head against the left armrest. Jackie was standing over him, her arms tightly crossed, her legs distanced from each other slightly. It mirrored his stance of power over another. She was yelling at him. The words did not reach him but her tone did. It ate at him from the inside. He then made a revelation. Their roles were switched. He was cowering like an innocent puppy and she had the upper hand. Suddenly, the world was too much. Her words were too harsh. The volume was too loud. Her tone was too sharp. And the dimly lit room was way too bright. He cringed at each syllable she spat at him. A nauseating feeling formed in the pit of his stomach and he leaned to his side and vomited, seeing his alcohol for a second time. Her eyes narrowed into slits in a deeper disgust, and he turned his head up towards her, his mouth tasting of liquor and acid. The image of her deep hatred for him permanently burned in his mind as he blacked out.
A few moments after he blacked, his eyes opened to his room, recognized by its stone colored wall. He smelled a fruity scent and glanced down, only to have his vision obscured by dark hair. Such hair owned by the woman he had his arms around. He inhaled the scent of her shampoo and suddenly he was back on top of the world. Nothing could touch him. The cowering puppy just a faint memory burned in the back of his mind forever.