DRAMAAA~~~~~~~~~

My Current Obsessions~~

Skinny Love - A Short Story

"Honey, I'm home." His voice was slurred, he'd been out drinking. It took him even more beers than usual to get him drunk enough to not be able to feel, to think.

He took slow, sluggish steps to get to the kitchen. She was usually there. Sometimes asleep, other times awake.

He liked it better when she was asleep. He liked it when she couldn't see him drunk and spouting out words that made sense and didn't make sense at the same time. It usually came back to him in a rush holding hands with a migraine and some vomit in the morning.

They lived together in a flat, the kitchen was the farthest room away from the door. He didn't like walking when he was drunk, always thought it would be simpler if she was in the living room, or in their bedroom.

It was weird knowing that they couldn't afford anything else but there was enough money for him to get drunk every night.

He slammed the door wide open. A bang. Big enough to wake a deep sleeper, but not her, yet he could swear that she was a light sleeper. Back in college when she was asleep all it took was a poke and she'd be wide awake.

There she was, sitting on the chair facing the door. Today, she was sleeping.

He reached out to touch her, to pull back her stray hairs. But he liked it better when it was straightened and he told her. His hands froze in mid air.

He smiled, his red lips wet with vodka, curled upwards. Thinking about how her hair is always straightened to perfection. She wanted to please him. He didn't know it damaged her hair.

Except when she was asleep her hair was how it was when he met hair. On their first date he pulled back a lock of her brown hair ever so slightly behind her ear. Those were the days.

He seducing her with a box of chocolate and a smile. Her simply listening to every command, a puppet being pulled by strings. He felt so supreme when he was with her. The puppet master.

To him love was a whole load of crap and that whoever believed in it deserves a hit on the head with his 1998 vintage baseball bat. He cared about what others thought. If he were to have a cup of tea it would have to be earl grey just like what people expected him to do.

 He reached his hand out to touch her head and his hand went straight through. That was the first time since he was six years old that he cried.

######

She stepped into the empty house. The house wasn't actually empty; there was furniture. Yet she felt alone. The place couldn't be called home. She had no home, but she had a home. A shelter.

######

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but..." the policeman stood awkwardly, his partner - Barry - giving him a thumbs up from down the pavement. Coward.

"What? I'm a little busy watching tonight's game so..." James held his navy blue collar away from his neck and felt a bead of sweat travel down his long face. He could feel his police badge digging into his torso as he stared at the beast of a man in front of him.

He could eat me right up, he thought.

"I'm afraid to tell you this but you're daughter just committed suicide." It all came out in a rush and then he quickly added a 'sir' as an afterthought.

The man, with a weird name of Walter Walter stood in front of the petrified James in confusion. He looked like a 37 year old gangster complete with a black blazer and three gold chains. James wasn't sure if they were real gold or not but that was none of his business.

Taking a deep breathe in and slowly let it out he repeated the words, like he was talking to his niece, a five year old.

"You're daughter, sir" he said, legs wobbling uncontrollably "she's dead."

"I don't have a daughter." The man said his voice loud with a tone of order. Boy was he intimidating. Then he slammed the front door shut with enough force that it left an echo and a new crack, which James called Barry.

Barry counted ten seconds before finally going up to James only to be smacked on the back of the head.

"What was that for?" Barry said as he winced.

"That was for running away, you chicken."

Then he hit him once more.

"And that was for giving me the wrong address." James raised his hand another time like he was going to hit Barry upside the head once more. Barry instinctively ducked causing James to laugh as he placed his hand in his trouser pocket.

Barry placed his hand on his head and rubbed it gently. "I swear that was the right address."

James shook his head as he went back into his police car and started the car. After winding down the window he stuck his head out. "Get your butt in the car Barry."

######

"And Torres scored a marvellous goal for Chelsea. What a way to end the match, Chelsea four, City nil." the commentator stated from the plasma screen.

Walter Walter waited till he heard the two police officers drive off before picking up the nearest thing towards him and throwing it against the wall and stood still for a second swaying back and forth before picking up another object and hurling it at a set of cabinets.

Then he took off his chains and stepped on it, then two more times for good measure.

"I need a beer." He muttered under his breath.

After that he picked up his biker jacket with the words 'The Rolling Stones' stitched on the back in the colours of the spectrum before heading out.

As he smashed the door closed, the cork of the beer bottle rolled next to the smashed up wooden chair that was perfectly normal what was almost a second ago.

"Manchester City fans are having a really bad day."

######

She walked towards the anniversary present he gave her exactly two years ago. It was a pretty vase that was light blue in colour and had purple daisies all around it. It wasn't perfect or asymmetrical or parallel. It wasn't made by some designer and is probably worth less than a pound, dollar or euro. But to her it meant everything. He painted it himself.... Just. For. Her. He went out of his way and those were the real days.

######

The police didn't bother to investigate for more than three days. They examined the body, confirmed it was a suicide and just cleaned up the mess. The forensics only did a quick once-over. That was what he thought. She died. She couldn't have committed suicide and left him that's impossible. She wouldn't leave him. But she did.

He could remember it as if he was right there standing in the bathroom impatiently looking for his lover and finding her, dead.

Death. He use to use that term lightly before it happened. When he was having a shouting match with his mother 'go, die' when he was having an argument with his boss 'go to hell' when he was being embarrassed by a teacher back in school the words 'die, die, die, die' were going round and round in his head like he was chanting a mantra, 'die, die, die, die'. But now, that one word's entire meaning changed.

Death: the end, no going back, no coming back.

She passed that line, without him. He never really thought that much in the future but he would have preferred to die first. It was an evil thought, a typical greedy thought, a human thought. Wouldn't everybody want that?

He could feel the police and forensics pushing him out of his own home, away from her. As the two male officers grabbed his arm he was able to get a glimpse of her hair. It was just like how it was when she was sleeping, curly, limp. But he wasn't there reliving the moment, he was in the chair, in the kitchen staring at her.

Today she was awake. Her brown hair straight and glossy. Her eyebrows hidden behind a fringe, a short one so that it would never cover her eyes. He didn't want people to think that his wife was shy but rather confident and sassy how his wife should be.

Her eyes were hazel; it was a brown swirl with three green specks. Her button nose was adorable as she smiled faintly at him. Clutching the Jack Daniel's in his hand, he tipped his head back and glugged it all down. Then he hurled it right at her smiling face.

But it went straight through and smashed against the wall.

"Damn." he shouted then picked up the first thing he could grasp his hands on - the vase. Even though it meant so much to her, but did he know that? Did he care? All he use to care about was one, what people thought about him and two, who won that night's game. Unemployed and wasting away he spent most of their money on alcohol and betting.

Again he threw it right at her hoping for it to smash into little pieces as it impacted her face but it only went right past. And so she was still watching him with forlorn eyes and a faint smile, unnerving him more by the second.

"Why?" he shouted at her. For the first time in his life not caring what others thought. He could only be himself around her, and so he was.

"Why did you leave me?" he stood up with such force that it caused the wooden chair to fall back. "It was suppose to be you and me against the world!". The chair bounced a few times on the carpeted floor till it stilled, it's left arm landing near a red stain.

The room was silent. The only thing that could be heard was his heavy breathing, as he slowly closed his eyes. Praying that she'd be gone.

"10." he inhaled, just like he was told.

"9" he exhaled.

"8... 7... 6... 5... 4... 3..." he raised his hand to lightly stroke his right eyebrow. "2... 1."

When he opened his eyes he still saw them. Brown with three green specks staring right back at him.

He left the kitchen ready to break something. He sat down on his seat, only to have her sitting next to him. "Leave me alone. You're dead!" then he quickly put on his work shoes, which needed to be polished, and left the place.

######

Walter Walter was at a different pub then his usual one. He always use to go to the one a few blocks away from his house; he knew everybody who went there and vice versa. As he went in he ordered for a huge mug of beer. The place was definitely normal, just like any other bar in town.

Taking the window seat, he stared at a block of flats. An anomaly compared to all the small houses, a big ugly building standing tall. There were 40 floors, and 4 different rooms on each. Cheap rent.

Walter counted up to the 37th floor and stared at the leftmost window.

"Sir, you're order." Betty worked part-time in Wendy's trying to earn some cash but even though the night shift paid double, she never took it. If she didn't need that money then she wouldn't have stepped one foot into this pub and moved into the city.

He grabbed it as soon as she placed it on to the table and took one huge swig. When the bar door swung open, he stared at the young man who entered. It was a face he knew well. That idiot was the one who took his daughter away from him.

From that moment all he could see was red. He stuck up his hand and asked for a whole bottle of their finest this time. Then he stared at those two icy blue eyes that were staring at the small television screen in the upper-left corner.

"Sir, you're order." Then Betty left smoothening her dress before going up to icy blue eyes himself.

Walter drank his drink enjoying the taste, no point wasting his money. And then smashed the end of the bottle on the wooden table. The entire pub went silent, except for Betty.

"What would you like to order, sir?" It was pretty obvious that she was flirting with the jerk himself. Walter stood up, equipped with his weapon, before approaching Betty. Everyone in the pub was watching, some expecting him to hit Betty. But they were all prepared for him to lash out.

But they weren't going to get involved.

"Excuse me." Walter spoke, causing the waitress to gasp in shock before scuttling away. Icy blue eyes didn't realise that everyone was paying attention to him. He simply stared at the screen, only until a towering figure blocked his view.

When he saw who it was he quickly jumped. He was nervous, an obvious sign of guilt to Walter.

"Mr Walter..." icy blue eyes looked down at his work shoes, which needed to be polished but then saw the glass bottle grasped tightly in Walter's hands.

"Matt, you little, conniving, son of a gun!" Walter exclaimed "What have you done to my daughter?"

Matt stood there, looking everywhere except at the old man himself. "I'm sorry..."

"You're sorry?" Walter shouted. "You're sorry! Look me in the eye, boy."

Everyone in the pub stared, an audience to this little event.

"I said look me in the eye, boy!" Still Matt stared apprehensively at the glass bottle before Walter dropped it on the floor and grasped his face. Matt had no other choice but to look him in the eye. They were identical to hers, except instead of three green specks, there were four.

Walter let go then swung a punch at him. Then another, and another, till Matt was beaten into a pulp but he just stood there, accepting to be his punching bag.

He fell right down to the floor when there was a sickening crunch - his jaw. But still all Matt thought was of her... Her hair brown and naturally curly... Her eyes, a brown swirl with three green specks... and her faint smile that she only wore when she was around him...

######

By the time that he got home, it was pitch black outside. The walk home was nice and calming, it took him longer then he usually did but he felt like he deserved it....  he didn't take the elevator like he usually did. He went up the stairs, each excruciating step, approximately three thousand and forty five, he counted. He couldn't believe that she went through this all the time. She was claustrophobic and couldn't go into that tiny elevator... he forgot about that when he bought a flat that was on the 37th floor... he forgot about her. 

The first thing he did was stumble to the kitchen - like usual - but this time it wasn't due to the alcohol. This time though he didn't sit in his seat, he sat on hers, and leaned down on his arm, like she did. It was uncomfortable, but still what felt like an hour of staring at the beige wooden table, a house-warming gift from his third cousin Frank, twice removed.

When he woke up and the sun's light was peeking through the curtains was when he saw it. In between bits of veneers was a note - a suicide note?

Matt... You don't deserve a dear,

I loved you, and you loved me... once. I'm 110% sure, but sometimes I do get doubtful and more so than ever in this letter - if you can call it that. Now, 100% of my body believes you loved me... once.

I am not writing this letter to clear your conscious but rather mine. If you actually do read this letter then you must of found it by accident, I know you, more than you know me, way way more. I loved you, and you loved me... once - 99.99% sure, in our skinny love phase. When did you change? Was it after you lost your job? After our short honeymoon to Hawaii? Or was it right at the alter?

It's better off I don't know. It's weird though, at least knowing something about my future... I'm going to die. Well, I'm probably dead if you're reading this or I would have burned it into a crisp, and for that I am 200% sure. More sure then knowing about if you loved me... once. Did you?

With all the love I ever had for one person... with all the love I ever had for you,

From me

Matt read the letter and engorged every single word. He turned it around, hoping, praying for more. And there was one small sentence, in her curly handwriting. Suddenly he remembered that day in college where they compared handwriting. Hers with the little cute hearts on the 'i's, and his, big, scrawny but readable.

He had to move closer to the page and squint before being able to read it.

I know I'm the biggest coward out there... I swear to God I do.

***************

Skinny Love is a song made by Bon Iver and sung by both Birdy and Ed Sheeran.

Skinny Love is a short story about a love that once use to be so pure, so raw, so innocent... and now gets twisted upside down.