Burden. Waste of space. Useless. Worthless. Unnecessary- unneeded. The thoughts crammed into his head as he tried desperately to push them out, loud music and other sounds filling the physical space around him. Even then, the noise was useless to penetrate the words echoing in his mind. Boring, annoying, and a nuisance.
"Why even try?" Warren mumbled to himself, sighing and running a hand through his hair. He pondered his next move for a moment, before heaving himself from the couch. He glanced at the clock, chuckling sadly under his breath at how long he'd just been... sitting there. The blond pulled a jacket from a hook near the front door of his apartment before heading back towards the living room. He moved to the deck of his apartment building, and pulled a small package out of his pocket. Shit. There's only a few left. Guess I'll have to get some more tomorrow. He pulled a cigarette from the box, closed it and returned it to its home in his jacket. The lighter was there too, which came out next for a short second, then was placed gently back in the pocket.
Nearly 450,000 people die from smoking every year, a taunting voice quipped in his head. Leaning against the railing, Warren looked out over the city. Cars were driving past on the streets below, people walking leisurely, some with others, and some by their lonesome. The blond laughed quietly at his own loneliness, before another voice chimed in. You're never going to find anyone, especially with this bad habit of yours. A third decided to pipe up, You'll probably end up being alone forever. Even if you quit smoking, who'd want you?
A long drag stopped the words for a moment, as a dull pain settled in his lungs. He knew it wasn't good. He knew it'd kill him, eventually. Maybe that'd be for the best, this time the voice was his own. The realization shocked him, but not nearly as much as it should've. I mean, He tried to reason with himself, maybe I don't really believe that. But all these voices, all these thoughts... It gets to me. He decided to take another pull from the cigarette, closing his eyes and imagining taking all the bad thoughts floating around his mind and releasing them as he breathed out a steady stream of smoke.
Dangerous. You could hurt someone if they were with you. You should stop. I know that. I'm trying to get better, but it's hard. You're just a burden to those around you. I'm trying my best, okay? What else can I do? Let them go, you're just creating problems anyways. A battle raged in his head, and he decided he'd had enough of smoking for now. He crushed the cigarette in an ashtray near the door and went back inside. The jacket that previously was hung by the door was haphazardly tossed over the back of a chair at the table, and Warren turned towards the cabinets.
He didn't want to, but he guessed it'd block out the noise for now. A tall glass from the third shelf, a bottle from a cabinet above the sink, and a cold cola from the fridge. The measurements certainly weren't proper, but the taste didn't matter. Getting to the end was all that mattered. The drink burned his throat, both from the alcohol and the carbonation. He coughed for a moment, bracing himself against the counter.
You know you can't take your medication if you drink, now, right? Warren sighed and pushed his hair out of his face, tugging it gently. "Could you just leave me be?" He groaned aloud, closing his eyes against the headache coming on. Against his own will, he took a longer swig than he intended, and coughed at the burn in his throat. He deserved it, he supposed, but it would be worth it if it got him drunk quicker. Despite the residual pain lingering, he drank more, and shortly made himself another drink.
---
It didn't take long before the alcohol brought its effects, and Warren certainly was feeling them. He felt lethargic, and for a moment considered the peaceful quietness of his home, the only noise he could hear was the air conditioner outside, and his fan running down the hall in his room. Even then, he should have known better than assuming it was safe. You need to stop doing this. Drinking won't solve your problems. You know this worries your friends, right? If they even consider you a friend... The thought had occurred before, and it wasn't one he much enjoyed entertaining.
They are my friends. They care about me. They also worry about you, Warren. They worry that you'll do something stupid, make a bad decision. You don't want your friends to worry, do you? That's not a very nice thing to do to your friends, make them worry and concerned. Don't you think they'd rather be relaxed and at ease, without you?
As much as his logic wanted to argue, his sensibility had gone out the window just like the last breath of smoke before he came inside. With all the drinks, he was pure emotion, and the thoughts were getting to him. He wanted to fight, but the voices were right. He couldn't just keep going on like this, hurting his friends. You just push them away, anyways. You don't talk to them except about your problems. No one wants a whiner. No one likes listening to the same boring, annoying complaints every day. You're just a nuisance to them. You're just a burden.
Glancing over to the coffee table, the outline of the glass containing his drink blurred and swam around. A warm drip landed on his bare forearm, and he glanced down to notice a growing dark spot near the collar of his t-shirt. Hot, salty tears streaked down his face, and he reached a hand up to brush them away. "t-They care about me," He tried, voice weak and broken, cracking from emotion and from the roughness brought on by his drinking. "They want what's best for me," He was interrupted by another voice. But do you ever think about what's best for them? Maybe they all just pity you, and want to make sure you don't make a dumb mistake. They probably just keep you around because of how clingy you are. They couldn't get away if they wanted to.
Warren was aware of his deep attachment to his friends, despite some relationships in being strained. "I'm trying my best," He argued, voice twinging with slight frustration. Maybe your best isn't good enough.
YOU ARE READING
spinning webs
General Fiction"Still, you shouldn't do that," A voice chirped from beside him, and Warren sighed. "It's not good for you." "Yeah," Warren sighed, running the hand not holding a half-burned cigarette through his nearly-white blond hair. "You're not wrong..." Silve...
