Woke up on the living room floor again to the smell of vomit and dog piss and Rayne licking my face as I tried to open my eyes. The sunlight streaming into the room exasperating my already pounding head. Images of pills and cigarettes and alcohol and razorblades and sex flashed fleetingly through my memory of another dream fading away, or of another bad night worthy of forgetting; they've become one-and-the-same.
She was gone again.
I was already three hours late. Trying desperately to find the strength to get up, and despite the blackout I somehow knew that I shouldn't still be here. Empty pill and liquor bottles everywhere. Vomit near the garbage can, near the sofa, near the TV. Every limb trembled.
And I wished she was here.
The way she would have called work for me, taken me into the shower and washed me, cleaned up the messes made, kept my glass of water full and cold, helped me into my bed and sat next to me in devotion despite her resentment, running her hands through my hair, kissing my forehead, silently, lovingly.
I was three-and-a-half hours late when I opened my eyes again. I felt a cigarette burn in the carpet near my hand, and I suddenly became aware of a burning sensation in my back. I reached back and could feel out the scabbed letters of her name. More images vaporizing as I desperately tried to grasp onto them before they vanished all-together.
It was nearly 1:00pm by the time I completed my morning routine at work, barely conscious, my body still trembled violently. And I realized that I don't know how to make this stop and I'm quickly running out of time to figure it out.