No Love

04 - Pipe & Weed

I'm tired. The bags under my eyes are not any heavier than the load I feel on my shoulders. I tortured myself until I couldn't. I cried myself to sleep and with the alcohol in my system, I was weeping like a widow. I've been stirring my coffee for ages now. My mind really isn't here. The torture had gone on even into my dreams.

"Are you OK?"

The raspy voice halts my raging thoughts. I stare at my timid housemate. His forehead is creased with concern. I hate the sympathy I see in his eyes. Sympathy is actually putting it mildly. I see pity. It's that pity that had welcomed me when I arrived home. I thought they'd laugh at me. My brother is an infamous Casanova and dad is on his third marriage. They both took time off work to aid me in nursing my broken heart. Yet, it was there. I'd never felt that small, even though their pity wasn't misplaced. I felt emasculated. I never want to feel like that again.

"Y-you were...loud"

"Don't annoy me," I quip.

He shrugs.

"I'm sorry. F-for whatever it is. I-I'll make breakfast," he says.

I take my cup of coffee, along with the saucer and exit the kitchen. He's a good cook and I'm not about to miss out on a decent meal. I have no idea how to clear my mind of these thoughts. It gets harder when her birthday inches closer, same as with these Mother's Day and women's day. I take a sip from my coffee. It's extra strong. I'm hoping the caffeine will wipe off my dejection and this hangover. There's bitterness on my tongue soon as I finish. The aroma coming from the kitchen is making my mood a little better. Today's weather matches my mood – pensive. A warm meal would slap right now. I need a female with a bust so I can lay my head on her bosom while she plays with my short hair. She loved that. I still wonder where she is. I groan, feeling the need to throw this cup at the wall hit me. I shall not give into temptation. I decide to instead go for a walk. I don't care that it might rain. That'd be good for me to cry. The melancholy I'm in is too much. The lump clogged at the back of my throat is making breathing a hefty mission. I blink the tears away. I can't be crying on the streets like this. I'm a man, I need to keep reminding myself of that. I wish one of these cars that keep passing me swerves onto me so the physical pain numbs the emotional one. My vibrating phone makes me halt my steps. I heave a sigh as I fish it out of my pocket.

"Yeah?"

"Who do you think you're talking to like that?" my mother spews.

I didn't check the caller ID; I just answered. I know I don't feel like talking to anyone. I should've declined but I'm glad I didn't. I don't need this woman on my case.

"Sorry, mother. What's up?"

"Are you fine, baby?"

Am I? Not even.

"I'm not really feeling well. I think I woke up on the wrong side today," I admit.

There's no use lying about it. Her and I kind of share the pain. She's still moping over dad so, telling her about my heartbreak then had been easy, she understood so we cried over it together. Though she was crying over her own things.

"I'm sorry, Hun. Is it one of those days?"

I scrunch my face.

"Did you just call me a Hun? Who's teaching you these things, woman? You're too old for that language"

She laughs,

"Too old? Boy, please. Just because you're turning 21 soon doesn't mean I'm old. Have you thought of what you're going to do?"

"Not really. You can surprise me. While on it, when am I getting a step dad? I want someone I can milk"

"Step dad for what? I'm not a hoe like your father"