All Too Well

4

Explicit Content: Drugs and alcohol

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Tin sat on the floor, desperately holding back the tears that were ever so close to flowing out of his eyes. He shouldn’t waste his tears crying for someone not worthy of his time.

Weekdays ended so fast, and weekend came in, almost unnoticed.

2:43 am. They said time flies when one’s having fun, what about its evil cousin? He wondered why time does this to him when all he wanted was for the weekdays to come so he would be surrounded by silence no more.

The silence creeped him out as the ticking of the clock echoed inside his apartment. The silence that he once craved for, now became his enemy. Too loud, it almost raptured his ear. 

2:48 am. He counted the number of empty bottles lying in front of him. Seven. Had he drank this little only? Last night he downed eight bottles.

2:51 am. He drummed his fingers on the small table in front of him, but stopped when he remembered how Can hated the sound of tapping fingers. Why does he still think about him?

Pathetic. He even took the desperate measure of blocking Can’s number to forget about him, yet everywhere he looked inside his apartment screamed of Can. The kitchen, his bed, the sofa.

In every sentiment he saw him. Every sensation was a reminder of his absence. However, he was not grave: he did not show his longing to others, and did not become wroth or irritable, as oftentimes happened in similar situations: instead, he only went back to having a melancholy personality, becoming increasingly quiet as the day progressed, not that he’d ever been noisy, and obviously entertained by many thoughts, all of the same design. He knew Pete noticed his distance, yet did not say anything about it, as he should because he doesn’t need someone to act like his mom.

Still, he couldn’t remember how many times he visited the football field just to see Can smiling around with his seniors. He couldn’t remember how many times he stopped at Can’s favorite skewer stall just to stare at it.

2:57 am. It had been like what? A month? Two? Three? Since Can rejected him. He couldn’t remember at all. All he knew was he remembered the pain of rejection all too well like it all happened yesterday.

How many times did he even think of ending his life? Once? Twice? He couldn’t remember. But he never did. How could he, when he still hoped that Can would barge into his apartment and hug him?

2:59 am. He held the sachet of a white powdery substance in his fingertips, as if recalling in its touch Can’s presence, yet set it down quickly, roaming his eyes around in search of some other aspect to fulfill his yearning.

Drugs.

If Can ever found out that the person he defended against all those people was now a drug addict, he’d probably laugh at him. Ironic how he became the person his brother weaved him to be.

He had no idea when it all began. He just thought he needed to forget. And he doesn’t get the gratification from alcohol. So, he began taking drugs.

It made him high. High enough to forget the pain he felt every time he saw Can smiling with his seniors. High enough to forget Can. That was all. That was exactly what he intended to do, to forget Can.

But every time he woke up, the first thing to come to his mind was Can’s smile, those sweet innocent smiles that killed him. How he hated those smiles.

He couldn’t recall how long he’d been drinking. He just knew it was long enough for him to summon the nerve to call the person he wanted right now. And so he did.