Perhaps it was time he rekindled with his former self, to gain back what he has forgotten.
The penetrating scent of alcohol and cigarettes mixed together hastily reaches your nostrils as you slowly inch forward. You reluctantly inhale and exhale, turning your nose up at the stench. You place your nine-inch heels with utmost care on the floor, making sure you don't step on something and slip. It's nearly pitch black in the hallway as you attempt to cross it to reach the living room. Your fingers scan the wall beside you, safely guiding you across this dangerous pit. Plants have been scattered all over the place, there's dirt everywhere, not to mention the terrible assault done upon your ears. Loud rock music is roaring through the house. You can just feel the whole damn house shake its booty on the beat. You tilt your head, squinting slightly as the light coming from the living room grows bigger and bigger. When you've successfully crossed the parkour and reach the next level, you sigh of relief – only to be met with the most horrifying, chaotic scenery. The furniture is placed upside down, spread in various and absurd places while most items are pushed back near the piano. A single light has been directed at the sliding doors guiding you to the garden. In that light stands a single man. About 6'0" ft. tall. He's standing back with his back towards you, as though to inspect his work. His hair is dark. It's messy and wild. A plaid shirt is hanging loosely from his shoulders and so are his jeans. From his hips, at least. A hand ruffles through his hair. You notice that his fingers, along with the back of his hand, are mostly covered in purple, white and blue. You frown, unable to comprehend what it is. That is, until you approach him, leaving the mess in the living room behind, and regard the mess in front of you. He takes a firm, long chug from a bottle of Jack with a cigarette pressed between his index and middle finger.
"What. Have. You. Done?", you ask him between gritted teeth, baffled yet furious, as you watch the paint slowly slide down the windows.
"Oh, you don't like my new work of art?", he casually retorts, making it obvious to you, by the tone of his voice, that he doesn't give a single fuck.
"This is not art! For God's sake, man…! This used to be a home!", you shout and get thrown back onto the sofa behind you in an attempt to yank the bottle of whiskey from his hand.
You regard him, presumptuously saying and scoffing: "You're a mess" while he switches the music off.
"You know, concerning the circumstances, I think I'm doing fairly okay. I'm just... re-decorating", he says, taking another chug as he turns around to meet your gaze and nearly trips over a paint bucket. You don't notice the far less than classy movement as you're too busy staring at the flesh in front of you. No wonder the shirt hung so loose: all the buttons are undone and you're making direct eye contact with his slightly toned yet broad chest. And even though he usually doesn't give it away, a bit of trimmed chest fuzz decorates the soft flesh before you. And for the moment, you're speechless, just staring at him and his fit body. Unconsciously, you lick your lips. He eyes you, eyes piercing through you and your eyes grow bigger, realizing that he caught you staring at him.
"I-I'm-I'm sorry", you stammer as you lean forward and crawl on all fours on the sofa. You quickly sit down, embarrassed. After all, you don't want to give him any ideas.
"It's okay", he turns around again, placing the bottle on the ground and takes a puff from his cigarette. He then dips his fingers into the paint again, "I'm not into cunts like you".
"Oh, me? I'm the cunt?", you sound shocked, "What about you, Mr. perfect-'and-I-will-never-cheat-on-you'?!"
He chuckles at your reaction, the cigarette skillfully placed between his lips moves along. You can see his tongue flick against it as he uses the glass in the doors as his canvas, "True: I've been an ass and a terrible husband, but there's something about you. Something I can't quite put my finger on. In the past, I've tried to like you, not even for myself, but then you fucked the missis over and over again, always trying to sweeten it afterwards by playing nice. You were always a sly one and I just couldn't…she always bought it, though".
"You're crazy. You've completely lost your mind this time", you say as you hurry to your feet.
"Or is that something you want? You don't think I've seen your eyes linger on me during birthday parties? The way you've been looking at me these last few months or the way you obnoxiously attempted to charm my pants off when we were alone?", he says as he abruptly turns around. He grabs your arm and spins you around. Willingly or not, you make contact once more with those dark chocolate brown pools.
"You fucking trashed your own house, you're insane! No one's gonna believe you!", she yells, "now let me go!"
Right away, just when you're about to punch him in order to break free, he releases you. Your hands awkwardly find their way on his chest and you instinctively start to caress his bare flesh. You whimper at the touch, noticing that his breathing hitches for a few seconds, feeling how his muscles flex due to your hands, your touch, all because of your doing. Those seductive eyes regard you carefully, you notice, waiting and wondering what your next step will be. In an instance, you stand on your tippy toes and hungrily press your lips against him. He instinctively wraps his arms around you, embracing you, as he kisses you back. You pull him back, back to the sofa, until the two of you fall onto the soft piece of furniture. He hoovers above you, teasingly sucking and biting on your lower lip. One of your hands travels down his chest, down his abdomen and to his groin. Your other hand pulls him closer to you. You start to caress his manhood through the denim and when you do so, he seems shocked and suddenly backs out. It's as though he has sobered up in a heartbeat. You look hurt, anxiously biting down onto your lower lip. You've made a terrible mistake. He catches his breath, "I was right: you're a lousy, jealous and insecure human being".
"Wait, I can explain –"
"Don't bother. I might not deserve her, but you certainly don't deserve her friendship. She's too good for you"
He quickly rises to his feet, leaving you stunned behind, and picks up his precious bottle. He starts downing the bottle as fast as he can.
"You're still here?"