Welcome to The New Classic, where the past and the present merge, to form a new future.
Once that no one can see coming...
Join Angelo, Vanessa and the rest of the gang three and a half long years after that fateful night.
Lo kept count. V didn't...
Moodlist A Song For You - Donny Hathaway Sandcastles - Beyoncé He Won't Go - Adele Love to Lose - Sinead Harnett Why Don't You - Cleo Sol Without - Alex Isley & Jack Dine featuring Robert Glasper Change My Mind - Alina Baraz
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"What did you just say to me?"
Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.
Don't say shit else.
I was looking at the back of her body. She looked so small; as if what just spilled out of my mouth had caused her to shrink to a fraction of herself.
Yet, there was an edge to her voice. It was steeped in incredulity. Shit, I couldn't quite believe what I had said either. The part I didn't pick up on was the warning, no the THREAT, that lined her every word.
We had yelled at each other like this before. Usually, I would start, and she would respond in kind, before eventually calming down, and then steering the conversation back into less stormy waters.
She would start offering resolutions. And compromises, that often left her with the short straw. And it was a price she was willing to pay, up until that exact point.
I had gotten absolutely, undeniably beside myself, and went off at the deep end. Completely irrational and with little regard for her, I proceeded to cut her down the best way I knew how. To assert myself as the dominant force in our union, and leave her no choice but to bow to that authority.
Expect, that's not what happened next.
You see, my sound, sober mind would be able to quantify all of these things in the morning, after my body had metabolised the remaining alcohol in my system. I would wake up and scurry straight for the toilet first then when I woke up, relieving myself of the contents of my stomach.
It would be partially down to the after effects of the liquid drug better known as alcohol, that have been so well recorded. The other part was anxiety. A lot of it.
This anxiety was what drove me to mentally pour over everything that I said the evening before and wince, as every insult I sent her way it hurt me as much as it was intended to hurt her.
It was as if there was a duplicity. A dichotomy between the me that now existed in the shadow, casted over me by regret, and that intoxicated, raging, hateful man that was cut down to a stump the night before.
The thing is, the voice that told me to stop was that of my normal, sober self. He felt those same feelings of entitlement and ownership, on a baser level, but he knew that verbalising them was simply unacceptable, and was unlikely to get a warm reception. He wanted to be able to revisit the topic on his own, without a loud, obnoxious drunkard pushing every button he could find.
