Greg was crying.
He lay curled up in fetal position in his over-sized pajama pants and a decade old band-shirt. The only thing suggesting he was still alive was the salty water dropping from his chocolate eyes.
He wanted to sleep. He wanted it so badly. He would've liked nothing more than to close his eyes and fly to dreamland, but every time he actually fell asleep he would have disturbing dreams, not even knowing what they were about when he finally woke up. There were faces and accusations, but nothing was real. Afterwards he would feel anxious the whole day.
The cold floor of his apartment started to feel oddly comfortable. He didn't know how long he had been laying there. In the distance he could hear his alarm clock go off.
Greg got up.
He dragged himself to the bathroom and took a look in the mirror.
"Fuck."
He rubbed his bloodshot eyes, knowing it wouldn't do any good. His whole face was somehow sunken and pale, as opposite to the swollen and blue one he had had for a few months ago. He reached out to turn the shower on.
The steaming water hit first with a pressure against Greg's back, but soon enough he got used to it. His knees gave away and he slid down the ocean-green wall to the shower floor. There he sat, as one sits under the shower, naked. He watched how the water ran down from his shoulders, following his skin's hair all the way down to the floor. He tugged his feet and hands tightly to his torso and looked like misery itself.
Greg wanted to have a cigarette.
A good half an hour later Greg found himself pulling a pair of old jeans and a black t-shirt on him. Though it was hot outside, Greg was shivering and he had to put on a nice warm hoodie too. Then he threw his bag over his shoulder, showed his keys and phone in it. Making sure he had coins for the bus trip to work, he left the apartment.
Greg didn't dare to drive.