Throb. Pound. Throb. I squint my eyes open only to be met with a seemingly endless array of sunshine. Muttering to myself, I stumble out of bed pulling the navy blue curtains shut. I could have swore those were shut. Throb. Pound. Throb. My head feels like it's about to explode. Tallying up the pros and cons of my recent alcoholism, I decide that I can overlook the monstrous headaches that come with my frequent hangovers. I make my way into the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face. Pulling the white towel down, I dry my face before resolving to completely wipe out the remaining contents of my liquor cabinet during the course of the day.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I am slightly more aware, my eyes now able to fully function. I look around to see every liquor bottle removed, the bottle deposit around my bed now non-existent. Kwest. I shake my head, immediately becoming angered. I had repeatedly told Kwest that I didn't want him interfering in my life, in my state of depression. But that didn't stop him. You've got to start locking that door Quincy.
Swinging my bedroom door open, I hear the sound of a vacuum cleaner coming from the living room. THROB. POUND. THROB. I shut my eyes and cover my ears slightly, looking to block out the unwelcome intrusion. By the will of God, the vacuum cleaner shuts of, and I continue my journey throughout the house. Almost instinctively, I stop in the dining room, making my way over to the liquor cabinet. Tossing the doors open, I feel my blood boil at the sight of the bare and empty shelves. This does it. Kwest has gone too far.
My heavy stomps echo inside my head, only provoking my headache further. Throb. Throb. Throb. POUND. Throb. Throb Throb. I must sound like Godzilla walking through the penthouse. My voice comes out in a bellow before I even reach the living room.
"Kwest! How many times do I have to tell you to just stay out of my business! Leave me the hell alone!" I turn into the doorframe of the living room, ready to chew him up some more. I almost feel my drawer drop when you come into view.
"You.. You're.. not Kwest.." I practically stutter. I close my eyes briefly, almost convinced that my mind is playing tricks on me. Maybe I'm still drunk. However, you're still there once I open my eyes. This is no trick, no hallucination. You're really here.
I feel my eyes scan over you almost a hundred times. You look a lot skinnier than I remember you being. Your eyes are dull and bloodshot, the shine and sparkle now invisible. You have bags under your eyes, giving me the impression that you haven't slept in months. You look older, more frail. It almost looks as if these past two years have been as hard on you as they have on me. My eyes travel up to meet yours. None of this matters though. To me, you still look beautiful.
Breaking me out of my trance, I see you open your mouth to say something, before you close it again. Knowing you, I know that you haven't thought things out this far. You didn't run your speech through your head before I woke up. You were acting on impulse. I see you open your mouth again, and I have to strain my ears in order to hear what you're saying.
"No. Not Kwest. And you, you're not dead" you say, smiling slightly, trying to make light of the situation. You never could be serious when I really needed you to be.
I see you looking at me, waiting for a reaction. One which I fail to give.
"I was starting to wonder when you didn't wake up after all the noise I had made."
Once again, no reaction. Stone face Quincy.
You clear your throat and look down. You're unsure of your next move. Well, that makes two of us.
"What are you doing here?" My voice comes out much harsher than I had intended. I couldn't help myself. I'm still angry with you. Your presence here does little to alleviate the pain you've caused me throughout the past four years. Just when I had thought you'd changed, you ran away. Again. You ran away from me, from us, from every hardship in you're life. Yes, you were here now. The question was, how long would you stay?
After a brief pause, I see a look of hurt register on your face. I feel a twinge of guilt before I brush the feeling away completely. I look at you, fully expecting an answer.
"I.. Tommy.. I.." You're at a loss for words. I see you struggle as you ponder over you're next move. As a result of my recent alcohol abuse, my brain seems to take longer than usual to process events. In an instant, I feel your arms around me, your face buried into my chest. I feel your tears slowly seep into the white cotton of my T-shirt. It takes every once of strength that I have left in my body not to wrap my arms around you and tell you that everything is going to be okay. That we're going to be okay. That we're going to be an us again. I glance down at the top of your head, ready to run my fingers through the mass of blond waves, ready to kiss away your troubles. Instead, I reach behind me and pull your arms off of me, my hands locked around your wrists. I look into you're dull blue eyes, and release you once your arms are a good distance away from me. I feel my voice crack as I begin to speak, and I temporarily stop to swallow the lump in my throat.
"Leave. Now." I order before I turn back around to head into my bedroom. This is all too much for me to take right now.
"Tommy... Stop.. Let me talk to you." I hear you choke out through your tears.
My heart breaks slightly as I hear the pain in your voice. I turn to face you once again. I shake my head before responding. "I'm done talking Jude. You find it so easy to walk away all the time? Now it's my turn."
And I do just that. I make it all the way to my bedroom this time, and I proceed to slam the door shut. I close my eyes and toss myself back on my head. I can't help but to think of how numb I've become. At this point in time, I feel nothing. Nothing except the persistent ache of my head. Throb. Pound. Throb.