A/N: There's this thing called a 30 Day Song Challenge and since everyone's done it one way or another I decided to do it as well, but on my own special way. Everyday (almost atleast) I'm going to get a song for the challenge and then write a short fic inspired by it.
So here we go. Day 1: Your favourite song - The Show Must Go On by Queen
He could feel the sun on his face as he cracked his eyes open a little to realize that it was yet another new day. Not that that had old any meaning to him for several days now. It felt like it had been three weeks since he had crashed his mentally exhausted body to this couch that wasn't really all that comfortable, but that somehow appeared to be his anchor in this storm. The couch was staying put so he was staying put, instead of drowning under the tsunami that were his emotions. In reality he had actually gotten up to get something to eat every now and then and he remembered having a shower couple of days ago.
Three weeks. The most painful three weeks of his life. Three weeks since he had last seen her. Three weeks since he had last heard her voice. Three weeks since he had seen her crying while he had listened to her telling him that she had been cheating on him. He remembered everything about her; the clothes, the runny mascara, the disheveled hair, what she had said, how she had sounded, the way she had moved closer to him as if to hold on to him. He remembered everything about her. But for the life of him he couldn't remember anything about himself. Had he said anything? How did he get out of there?
He barely remembered how he had gotten here. A friend of his was in the real estate business and she had gotten him this place in a day's notice as well as the couch. He knew that, but he didn't really remember it. Maybe it hurt too much to remember. The same way it hurt too much to sit up right or move or breath. It had hurt every second of every minute of every hour of the past three weeks and he suspected that it would continue hurting a great while longer. But somehow today felt different.
Somehow the sun didn't feel quite as cruel as it had the day before and all the days before that. Somehow the idea of getting up and maybe getting a shower didn't feel as overwhelming. He found himself sitting up and opening his eyes. The sight was somewhat dreadful, another change to the day before when all he had seen was emptiness. True, the apartment was mostly empty, but filling all that vacancy were takeout cartons, empty whiskey and beer bottles and a couple of bags with his clothes in them. He didn't remember getting those either.
So he got up, got himself one of the plastic bags the food had obviously come in, and started little by little cleaning the trash. After that he went to the bathroom and took the longest hot shower ever, while noticing that he wasn't as cold as he had been before. As he got out of the shower and into some sweatpants and a T-shirt he found himself in front of a mirror. Will McAvoy. Somehow he had expected to see someone else. But the picture still looked like him, a broken, beaten, harder and more tired version of him, but nevertheless, it was Will McAvoy looking back at him.
Will took a long look at the place he had been rotting in for several weeks now. It wasn't all that bad. Actually, it was a stunning place for anyone whose eyes weren't currently blind to all the beauty in the world. He could live here. To his horror, and relief, Will noticed that he had suddenly made a decision. He was starting to create a plan which meant that he was starting to function again. Very well then.
Step one: Call Sheryl and tell her you want to buy the place for good, never mind that the building wasn't all done yet.
Step two: Decorate. Scratch that. Hire someone, a man, to do it. No woman's touch anywhere.
Step three: Find a job that doesn't come with her.
Step four: Forget everything about Mackenzie McHale, wipe her out completely and never get hurt again.