Groaning, I felt the peace of unconsciousness drift away, and my levels of alertness rising through the roof.
I rolled over in bed, and stared at the roof.
How many days had I been doing this for?
How many days had I drunk myself into an unconscious heap only to wake the next morning, feeling, if possible, worse then when I had started?
I wasn't sure. The days blurred. The past days weeks, months even? They'd all muddled into my mind, to the sharp pain of vodka sliding down my throat, Cleo begging me to stop drinking, the old man trying not to give me alcohol, bar fights with any random who 'looked at me in the wrong way'. But the clearest of it all was not what had happened, but the lack of it.
It all lacked him. He'd been gone for so long. Before he left in person, he'd been gone I spirit for a long time. I had refused to admit to myself that innocent, happy, young Majic had any problems. It was my fault. If I had only noticed, helped him, then none of this would have happened. Silver wouldn't exist.
I blinked slowly, noticing that my eyes refused to focus. Ah, a hangover. I've noticed more and more often lately that a hangover has little to no effect on me. It has become my norm.
Would I have been able to prevent any of this?
I'd been over this question, all of these questions, so many times, but still had no answers to show for it.
If I'd admitted it, and tried to help, would it have stopped this, or sped it up? Would he have committed suicide, if I'd known that he'd been slicing his wrists?
I winced at that thought. The hauntingly vivid image of his sickening wrists was right there, every time I even brushed the subject.
He'd done it to himself. Taken the knife, or blade, or whatever he used, and hurt himself. Cut himself. Slit his wrists. I could only be thankful that he'd gone across the wrist, not down.
Heavy knocking on my door sluggishly registered in my mind, and I attempted some sort of noise as a response.
It must have worked, as the next thing I know Cleo is there to have her daily rant at me.
"Orphen! Get out of bed, you lazy bum! You shouldn't still be there at this hour- the morning's nearly over! We should be out there, trying to find Majic-"
It was the same lines she'd repeated every morning since I got here- the exact same amounts of forced cheerfulness, the same levels of hysterical excitement that belonged to Cleo and only Cleo.
"Cleo. We know where he is."
The words rolled off my tongue easily, like we were reciting a play. In a way we were. She played the caring friend, I played the hopeless drunk. Or something like that.
"No! Orphen, we've lost Majic! We have to find him again!"
I hated this part, every time. Tears forced their way to the edges of Cleo's eyes, and she gazed at me so pleadingly that I was actually compelled to do something, anything, to help her.
"Cleo… He's gone for good. We know this. We should just be happy that he's safe, healthy, alive. We have to stop being so selfish. This is what he wants."
She broke down into tears, collapsing onto her knees. Just like every other morning. Repeated, day after day after day.
I know this routine in and out. I let her cry it out, reciting my lines, and finally she stormed out, telling me to rot in hell.
Finally. Peace and quiet.
I made it through a shower, after deciding that I couldn't take the revolting stench that surrounded me any longer. Once dressed, I made my way down the stairs, and plopped myself down on a barstool.
"Oi! Old man! Voddy!"
"Look, you lazy bum, I'm not giving you any more alcohol!"
He turned and glared at me, which broke the recital.
I felt like saying 'cut, go again, from the top'. But this wasn't a play.
He was serious. About not giving me any alcohol.
I couldn't fucking believe it! Why on earth would he not give me any alcohol! It was his son, he should understand how I fucking felt!
"And why not? I'm a paying customer!"
Okay, so maybe not paying. But I taught his son! I had connections!
He came right up to the counter, in front of me, and leant down on it, obviously worn out. Ok, so it was already dark, but it takes a long time to get up with a hangover. But the old man shouldn't have been this tired. This was emotional. At least, that was my guess.
"Orphen, it's time to stop this. You have to move on. Majic is gone. He was my son, and I loved him, but he's gone. We have to accept that. You can't drink your life away because of Majic. That's not fair to him."
That was most definitely not in the script.
He served me up an ice-cream soda, and in silence we conversed. Not that that makes sense. But we comforted and understood each other, in silence. Ugh. This hangover is really getting to me. My temples throb.
I place a finger to each temple, and start to rub in circles. Before any good could come of it, though, Cleo is at my side, appearing from somewhere, outide would be my guess.
Like I said, with a headache this bad, I'm not noticing anything.
I didn't really pick up on what was said, I was too busy attempting to keep my head straight after I stood up. I grabbed Cleo for support, laughing slightly at how I was dizzy and not drunk. Cleo must've seen or been told that I was off the alcohol, because the next thing I know is her arms around me, squealing in delight.
Chuckling forcedly to humor her, I turned to look out at the street, wondering what time of night it actually was. All thoughts of time, however, vacated my mind as I saw what looked distinctly like Majic sprinting away.
"Majic! No!"
Getting Cleo off of me, I took off at a sprint after the teen, and when he fell, I nearly caught up before he screamed out a teleportation spell, that was distinctly Silver, or Majic, or whoever.
I stood there, stunned.
He'd been so. Close. And I'd let him get away!
I hurriedly tried to think of places he'd 'port to, but when Cleo latched onto my arm, panting, she screamed out "Lake!", and that was all I needed.
Once I'd ported to the lake, Cleo and I sprinted forward, searching madly for him. Where had he disappeared to?
I ran right to the edge, and looked down, fearing that he'd jumped right off. But no, there he was, surrounded by a pool of his own blood, lying down against a wall of rocks about a meter under the edge. Cursing, I jumped down immediately, and was at his side as soon as I could.
Paying no heed to the blood that seeped into my clothes, I grabbed Majic and watched as his hair faded from black back to it's natural blonde, the eyes fading to blue.
I pulled his head into my lap, and stroked his hair. "It's okay Majic, we'll get some help, and we'll get you out of here and it'll all be okay."
I knew I was blabbering on, but it made it hurt less.
Inside, I knew that he was dead.
But I didn't want to admit it.
Okay, so it's crap, but I tried hard, and this fic is now put to rest! As you observant people can tell, endings are far from my strong point. But oh well, it can only improve.
THE END
