Seth's knees buckle under the pressure. The weight of his emotional problems seriously affects his physical being. Being as fatigued and injured as he is, after having such a rough day, he quickly gives in and immediately drops down hard onto the sofa. He's lucky that his body is caught by the safety net of the soft suspension of the fabric or else he could've injured himself, seriously too. Not that he'd cared. He preferred being swallowed up by it right about now, realizing how bad things were currently.
With eyes still widened, he stares in front of him, motionlessly, absentmindedly, trying to let it all just sink in, however reluctant he feels about these matters. He can't stop it, not anymore. It simply goes automatic.
After all, his wife left him.
His best friend abandoned him.
And it is even a poor, sad, pathetic question if he would ever meet his unborn child, and if she would even inform him on the gender and name.
He loudly exhales, sighing as he hangs his head and buries himself in his hands. Seth then runs a trembling hand through his dark hair. The other one soon follows, with fingers tugging harshly at the locks. With digits intertwined with his hair, he pulls his head down and curls into a ball. Elbows are placed upon his knees while he closes his eyes.
His wife has left him, that's what bothers him the most. He and Mike have gone through a lot together. Surely, he'll come around eventually. At least he hopes. Seth himself might have to face his consequences, suck it up like a man, and suffer a couple of weeks for it, going through the dirt for his friend, being immensely, ridiculously ridiculed, but their relationship is more than worth it. If he's just given the chance.
His wife was something else. Seeing how determined she was, she would never forgive him.
Ever.
Not after giving him a second chance already.
And that puts him in a tough position.
A relationship that cost years to build up: from being introduced to each other by Neil deGrasse Tyson, where they almost automatically became friends because of the common interests they shared, where their relationship suddenly started to become awkward, with the casual touches on backs, shoulders, hands, how it'd sent shivers down their spines, the looks they've given each other, and how they had finally taken the risk, after much begging on his side, and started going out, how that slowly evolved into becoming lovers, becoming husband and wife, and creating new life, to become parents – or least, he had hoped.
A relationship that cost years to build up, a relationship that he had cherished and loved so deeply, a relationship that became his all, his life, it had been so fragile and easily broken, to be forever shattered, to never be repaired again. And he was stuck with the pieces that were leftover and remained to simply exist. He was left alone to fend for himself. The previous life that he had believed and mistaken for as his future was no longer a fact. That future and its stability were no longer factious.
Everything he had known and loved to this very moment was no longer.
Now, what could he do?
He sits there silently with time slowly passing by, hugging himself tightly as reality leisurely seeps in. He's alone, abandoned by those he loved and had naively assumed they had loved him back. The only sound that echoes through the room and fills the silence is his breathing. It has become irregular, with sharp intakes of oxygen. He desperately fights back the rising urge to hyperventilate.
"Aaaah!", he suddenly loudly screams on the top of his lungs. A swift motion of his hand slams the items that sit upon the near coffee table away, tossing it across the room, damaging the careful, precious work of a hired decorator. Several thuds are heard, along with shattering of glass as it, and the other items, hits the cold tiles below.
He's unsure how long he has been sitting like that, but he finally opens his eyes, lifting his head up. He sits back, straightens himself and looks around. Both hands find their way back to his face, unable to be detached from him just yet. Brown eyes watch through bars of flesh before the fingers slowly start to travel down, towards his chin, while they careful dig in the skin between. He then lets his hands fall onto his lap, entwining his fingers and he sighs once more, still looking around.
The small mess surrounding him is the mess he just made, but aside from that, his house appears to be relatively clean. He exhales and rises to his feet. With much difficulty and effort, he gathers his belongings, picks them up and places them back onto the coffee table. Until, he suddenly comes across a small Ted stuffed bear. For a moment, he freezes, standing perplexed. Slowly, and with slight hesitation, he manages to get himself to the little bear. He squats down to pick it up and inspects it to see if it's damaged or dirty anywhere. He's lucky: it's not. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he remembers purchasing it behind his wife's back. She didn't have a clue. When he brought it home and showed her, oh, when he revealed the little Ted bear from behind his back, her eyes twinkled with utmost sincere joy. She was so ecstatic. He never imagined her to be so delightfully enthusiastic about it! She had hugged him and told him it was the perfect plush bear for their child. And it was.
He bites onto his lower lip, looking around to find something, anything, to get this off of his mind. He tries to suppress the memories that suddenly come floating back to the surface as he spots the baby phone laying near a broken frame, a frame that has a picture of him and his wife smiling brightly from ear to ear, with his arms around her waist, his head on her shoulder and her lips on his cheekbone, completely catching him off guard, and you can see the surprised expression on his face.
For a couple of minutes, he is silent. He simply stares intensely at the photograph. Then, he abruptly diverts his gaze, looking away, and a hand roughly runs through his hair. He quickly rises to his feet and picks up the rest of the items, until there's only but one still on the floor.
The last item is one he approaches cautiously. It's another surprise. It's a piece of paper, but he doesn't remember anything of the sorts on his table. It seems out of place yet it completely distracts him, drawing his full attention to that single piece of paper. He picks it up and inspects it.
It's a note from his doctor, advising him to get plenty of rest.
A faint smirk appears on his face as he puts the note in his pocket.
That bastard did take him to the doctor after all.
He quickly decides that a splash of cold water might do him some good, so he makes his way to the bathroom upstairs.
He's reminded of his future once more, his new fate, when he looks at himself in the mirror. Several smudges of red lipstick cover the lower half of his face. He traces one of the smudges from left to right with his index finger, one where it's obvious that a woman's lips are responsible for causing the terrible havoc on his face as this particular smudge on his cheek show a rough outline of lips.
He looks down, directing his gaze to the ground as he steadies himself; his grip tightens on the sink. The pit of his stomach twirls around, clenching, stabbing, his gut giving him the most awful feeling ever: regret. He never used to be like this. When women kissed him so passionately as she has when he was younger, he loved it! He didn't now, though. What has happened to him?
He stares at his own reflection for a minute or so, meeting his own piercing stare, before he picks up a washcloth and starts to remove the marks of his earlier heated encounter.
Perhaps it was time he rekindled with his former self, to gain back what he has forgotten.