Till The Clock Strikes Gone

o3 | darling

As William walked home in the morning, he dreaded how the day would pass. After he had passed out in the bar, Mark, the 'happily-married-something-that-William-will-never-be' bartender, was kind enough to help him find a place to crash which wasn't very comfortable considering it was near a dumpster at the back of the bar.

Yes, William Ray, the bestselling author, had just spent his night sleeping near the garbage. When he had woken up, he had found himself smelling of the weirdest and most disgusting scents available in the world — scents which he believed his soul always smelled of.

After many successful blinks of his eyes, he was able to see the time. 8 am, it said on his digital watch. With his eyes wide open he had managed to pull himself up on two feet and gathered the guts to walk home.

He was wishing Eliza would wait before demanding an explanation for his missing night so that he could quickly take a shower before lying down for another nap. Maybe he would grab a sandwich before that; his hunger was killing him, and not to mention, a medication wouldn't be that bad considering the migraine which was birthing itself on his head.

With great struggle, William reached the door to his house and after slipping the key inside the lock, he pushed the door open and froze.

The house was silent like a cemetery. The lights were still on and the corridor was mocking him with its glow. Eliza never slept this late. Never.

She was always up by 6 am and by the time William would get up from bed, he would hear her footsteps walking or running throughout the house. The lights would be off by then and the morning sun would be rushing through the windows to keep the house bright.

This wasn't his home. This wasn't Eliza's home. She wasn't here.

His heart did a flip and he tensed. For a moment he forgot all about his terrible night and dropped his coat on the ground before rushing towards his bedroom on the first floor. He kicked open the door in a hurry and flicked the switch on. Eliza wasn't in the room nor was she asleep. The bed was neatly made just like it had been when he had left the house the previous morning.

His room didn't have much furniture. The walls were painted purple and the bed was in the middle; a black carpet covered the floor and a bedside table took one corner beside the bed. Near the window, straight ahead from where he was standing, was his laptop, resting in the sleep mode, where he worked and then the bathroom on the left. He hurried towards the bathroom and knocked on it twice before swinging the door open.

No. Still no Eliza.

William rushed downstairs, he wanted to call her name but his throat was hurting him. He stopped at the kitchen right before entering the hall and drank a glass of water to clear the roughness in his throat. The water tasted bitter with the taste of last night's alcohol in his mouth. He turned around, ready to call Eliza's name when his eyes fell on her form.

She was lying on the ground, her head placed on the couch in an uncomfortable position. Her hands were dropped on her legs which were positioned awkwardly. She was asleep, her chest rising and falling in slow rhythms. William caught sight of her face and he stilled.

She had been crying. Her cheeks were stained with dry tears and her lips were chapped, the very lips which were always moist whenever he kissed them. There was a drool of saliva escaping from her mouth.

She had not just been crying, she had been crying hard. He had made Eliza cry. He always made sure that didn't happen. He wanted to get her out of his life but he never wanted to make her cry. A part of him always made sure that Eliza was happy.

He would never hurt a woman, partly because his mother had taught him a lot on that topic, and partly because he didn't want any legal troubles after their divorce. He always made sure she was happy and satisfied. He was always gentle with her, even when they had sex.