TOUCH STARVED

FIFTEEN

You heard giggles and short bursts of laughter that filled the air followed by hums of appreciation and serenity. You'd swallowed down all the liquid courage you could bare to fight away the thoughts inside your head, and with no fuel, to your anti-anxiety fire, they charged in guns blazing. That was a woman's voice you heard, he was with another girl and they were having fun. No calls. No texts. No sign he was even alive and here he was, laughing it up with another woman?

Darkness.

It was all you saw for the following 24 hours. Nothing but the seal behind your eyelids that shielded you from the world and the only sounds that raided through your apartment were the sounds of your raging stomach as it cried out to be filled. There was nothing that could be done. You'd emptied every liquor bottle in your apartment, smoked every pack of cigarettes. All that was left were your tired eyes, held up by the dark circles beneath them. Your skin was cold and sensitive, you hadn't turned on the gas in days. It was so dark and you felt so lost without Peter.

There were waves that washed over you every now and again, that there had been people before Peter and if this was the case then there would be people after. Peter was not the be-all and end-all, although you had wished him to be.

As the hours passed it grew more apparent that you needed to look after yourself. Despite the pain and the anger that had been brewing inside your chest, you fought your desires and crawled out of bed like a pot of goo that had come to life. Your hair was a mess and your clothes were sweaty, and damp with the smell of liquor and nicotine. You could smell yourself, you smelt like your past. The churning in your stomach made your knees shake, arms flailing by your side as you rub your eyes tenderly, trying to rub away the lack of sleep that lingered in them.

You knew from memory that you were short on cash, and searched the fridge and cupboards for what you were lacking food-wise. Looking around your dark and cold apartment, you knew a change had to be made. You had enough money for some odd groceries, enough to make a decent meal to tire you over for the next couple of hours, long enough to get your apartment cleaned and back to habitable.

After making a list and tucking it into your pocket you set your mind on the route you were to take. Writhing in self-loathing you felt your head grow heavy with anxiety, wondering if you should shower before you left. Or maybe even at least brush your hair? No. You knew if you took any liberty to relax now, who knew how long it would be before you left your apartment again. You were biting the bullet. Washing away every ounce of your conscious that told you not to leave the apartment, don't even open the door.

But you had to go. You were starving.

Approaching your front door with heavy steps you took the plunge and swung it open, stepping outside and closing it shut tight behind you. How had you let it come to this? This wasn't you. But you couldn't deny the fact you were struggling, there would be nothing worse than defying your true feelings in this moment of need. Taking a deep breath, you ran your palms along your jacket front, drying out the sweat and grasping your keys to lock the door. Before your apartment key could even face the lock, it was as though the gods had already sealed your fate.

Turning your head to the left, your eyes gazed upright, seeing the shadow of the open doorway to Peter's apartment. And there he stood. In all his... You would have presumed glory, but he looked just as bad as you felt. Peter was the last person you wanted to see right now.

His eyes shone with nothing but normality. No confusion, not even regret or surprise that you were standing before him.

"Hey," he spoke softly, "are you okay?"

You clenched your jaw tightly with rage, pushing your key into the lock of your apartment door and twisting with force before retreating and heading down the hallway without looking back. It wasn't long before Peter's footsteps could be heard following hot on your heels, the sound of your name falling from his lips.