Disclaimer: I am lowly scum in the grand scheme of things.
Authors note: As always thanks to fabulous people who make me smile with shiny, pretty reviews. I am trying to keep up with what is a pretty good work rate for me. I have the house to myself; for once the TV is not on in the background.
He managed to stumble in the door raucously and hoped in vain that she would come out and scold him for rousing her.
He wasn't inebriated enough to forget that she had moved out long ago.
Hell if she was still here he wouldn't be drunk, he'd be at her side nestled down on the couch with Chinese food and beer watching some second rate horror movie, pretending he wasn't hopelessly in love with her.
He'd never really seen it coming. I mean why would he? He was Ray Barnett he didn't do love. He wasn't that guy. Sure he knew he was attracted to her but he wasn't blind and she was beautiful. Unfortunately he had taken the time to get to know her, something he couldn't truthfully say he had done with any of his "dates". He often wished he hadn't, the pain of loss a persistent ache in his chest, reminding him that he couldn't ever be complete without her, that she was the one, his one. Damn her. He would hate her for that if he could only summon up the strength of will.
He picked up the phone, too much alcohol making him suddenly courageous and assertive. He dialed the all to recognizable number that had entrenched itself into his memory from the many times he'd tried to tell her.
After the fifth ring the machine kicked in and he felt the relief and anxiety hit him simultaneously, He listened to her voice.
"Hi, This is Neela, I'm unable to take your call at this time. Please leave a message after the tone" Cool British voice both warm and distant at the same time. He longed for more but knew this was as good as it would get for him.
Frustration suddenly coursing though him, He shouldn't be hurting like this; it shouldn't be this hard to love someone.
The phone cascaded to the floor in a splash of shattered plastic before he realized his rage had put it there, smashing it against the wall in fury.
He kicked out mindlessly connecting with something solid and relishing the crash it made as it fell in the darkness of the room.
Then with the anger gone all that was left was his despair, weeping like a child he slid to the ground, head in hands crying long over due tears of desolation.
His soul as ruined as the phone.