MICHAEL
It took two days for the ice to melt enough for anyone to go anywhere, which meant two days of sharing my apartment with Luke and trying not to murder him. He wasn't even around all the time, but it was still enough to irritate me. And it's not like I couldn't easily figure out where he was. There's nowhere else for him to go. He was either with Emily or with Kate, and I don't know which is worse.
Either way, the entire city was put on pause for a few days. Everything was closed, which meant that even if you were willing to go somewhere, there wasn't anywhere willing to let you in. So since I didn't have to drive, I didn't worry about how much I drank, or even keep track of it at all. I'd gone through the hidden bottle of vodka by myself, but it wasn't that much for one day. Once that ran out, I'd been able to bum half a bottle of bourbon from my neighbor; he owed me anyway. I've never cared much for bourbon, but it did the job. Only when my memory started mixing up Emily and Kate did I stop drinking it.
On the third night, the last night that Luke stayed with me, he grabbed the bottle out of my hand and poured what little was left in it down the sink. He rambled on about how numbing the pain would get me nowhere in life, and I was too drunk to explain that I was already going nowhere in life. When you're lost, you're lost. You can't get any more or any less lost.
But when I woke up this morning, I felt more lost. I felt like the earth was spinning faster, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't just a result of my hangover. I've been sitting on the couch all morning, staring at the wall. I can't make myself do anything else, because doing things means feeling things, and I'm not ready for that. I can't remember when Luke left but I remember him leaving. To my surprise, I've found myself almost missing his company. Really it's just the company of someone-anyone at all-who gives a shit about me. And right now it's looking like Luke is the only contender in that category. Although before he left, he made a comment about how I need to shower and "get off my sorry ass," but that's easy for him to say. Judging by how much time he spent away from this apartment, he's either made amends with Emily or made a move on Kate by now.
Kate.
The thought of her is the only thing that can propel me off this couch. Of course I've thought of her before now, but her name is suddenly a jolt of energy to my system, urging me to be proactive.
All I've done is sit here and think, drinking myself deeper and deeper into my thoughts until I can't remember them anymore. But they only run in circles. I shouldn't have left, I shouldn't have given up no matter how many times she sent me away, it's not too late, it is too late, I shouldn't have left, I shouldn't have given up. It's endless but it's constantly ending, fading out into oblivion.
I've lost track of how many days it's been, but I need to see her. Even if she's sending me away, shutting the door in my face, I need to see her. I just need to see her face and hear her voice, even if the words she uses break my heart. I'm going fucking crazy without her, like she was a drug that I wasn't aware I was being slipped until I started going through withdrawals.
Though I want to take the stairs to her right now, I heed Luke's advice and take a quick shower first. It's almost like I can feel the alcohol washing off of me, the strong scent of shampoo masking any trace of bourbon left.
I should shave my face too, but I don't have the patience. Dragging the razor across my chin would be akin to dragging it across my already frazzled nerves, and I can't do it.
My hair is still wet as I fly down the stairs, stopping myself from hitting Kate's door with the full force of my body and then pounding my fist against it. I take a deep breath to collect myself and my thoughts. What will I say to her? Will she let me in? Is Emily still here?
