Darkness. Broken by the rising sun. Washing over the insignificant objects that litter the living room, bringing them into my focus as I stare at the dead white wall.
Dead. That word has never felt so familiar, so important, so true than it does right now. Because I am, in effect, dead inside. That little light that had started to glow with the inhabitants of this little world that has been my home for the past six months got diminished. Drowned by anger and hatred that was in his eyes as he glared at me. Cold. Uncaring...
Everything that I know has been shattered. There is no going back from that. There is no way to fix the fear that has re-embedded itself in my heart. Mark is no longer my source of safety. He's the reason I've done what I've done...
“Alex?”
I blink, dragged out of the numbness that I was happily suffocating myself in. Shifting my gaze ever so slightly, I see them all. Sam, Danny and Glen. Stood watching me like I'm a volatile container on the verge of an explosion. What they don't know is that I've got nothing in me to let out. I'm in an even worse state than I arrived in. The broken girl is now irreparable.
“How you doing, love?”
How am I doing? Is that really the only thing they have to ask me? After what they heard behind that door last night, I'm surprised they haven't checked me over for bruises and open wounds. Not that he hurt me. But I'm pretty sure he would have...
“Did he hurt you?”
Finally, a question almost worthy of an answer. I'm not sure how I manage to do it, but I force my head to shake. And their reaction isn't well hidden. I see them visibly relax, hear them exhale as sneakily as they possibly can. But they don't fool me. They know that one wrong move on my half and I wouldn't be here...
“I'm so sorry, lovely,” Sam whispers to me, kneeling down in front of me. “If we would have known he would have reacted like that, then we would have made sure you didn't follow him into the house.”
“It's totally out of character for him,” Glen continues. “He's never lost his temper when he's been drunk. Never. He's always the happy, friendly guy that wants to have a laugh...”
“He's lost his temper once,” Sam says firmly. “It went totally out of control and people got hurt. Seriously hurt. Him more than anyone...”
“I didn't know that...”
“We don't talk about it,” Sam says coldly, cutting Glen off abruptly. “That day made us realise that he could not drink certain drinks. They trigger something in his already broken mind, amplifying them to the point where he has no control. And we can't handle that.”
“What drinks are they?”
“Whiskey and Sambucca. Everybody knows that...”
“I saw him down three shots of Sambucca last night...”
“What?!”
“Yeah. Dan handed them to him...”
Danny. This is all his fault. But I don't have the energy to listen to their argument. I don't have the energy to find a reason as to why Danny, Mark's supposed longest friend, gave him a drink that he knew would be dangerous. In the state of mind that I'm in right now, I don't even blame Danny. Even though I know I should. I blame Mark. I blame him for everything. And that's why...
“That's not what's important,” I hear Danny snap, clearly tired of being made out to be the bad guy. “I fucked up. I know. And I'm sorry. But there's nothing I can do to change it. So why don't we stop riding my arse and find out how Alex is.”
