Pounding on a door. A near empty house (not a home, never a home). Two Voices, one dark and sluggish, one warm and heated. Shouting, increasing in loudness, getting ever more aggressive. Tears of sadness mixed with rage. The air, filled with conflict, instead of comfort. Hate, rather than love. Anger, not sympathy.
Bitter, bitter disappointment where there should be trust.
A sharp noise, breaking glass, followed by the stinging smell of vodka. A softer noise, heavy and meaningful. Then, a whisper, barely hear. Eyes widened with disbelief.
Poisonous words and painful punches. An uneven fight.
The door slammed shut, leaving, no looking back, ignoring the calls.
Light coming into an apartment. Fresh air filled with cheeky laughter, bright colours: a home.
Another phonecall, answered with slight annoyance.
Tumultous emotions: betrayal, hate, sadness, anger.
Triumph. Grim Satisfaction. Immediate Denial, covering the edges with lies.
No healing, just a pit.
For the very first time, the smell of vodka stinging the air, turning the laughter upside-down, dimming the colours, the light, leaving another place behind.
Mirv woke up, drenched in sweat. The memories still floated in his mind, cutting deeply, as fresh and painful as on day one.
He curled himself up, covering his face in his hands. "..rryidiotmissyoujustsosorr...never shouldvenever..."
When his breathing slowed, and he had washed his face, he looked in the mirror.
A cheerful smirk appeared.
Then he took a look at his clock.
"Guess it's another early day, then."