PLATFORMS ↛ D.A

Issues and Contemplations

Waterloo | 02:52am

Damon hadn't slept well the last few weeks.
His brain was packed with concern for his upcoming presentations and he no longer knew how to calm himself down. Amelia was always a huge part of his de-stress and this would be the first important assignment he had taken on since she left. He thought he was doing fine, burying his head in work and staying at the office till midnight but it wasn't until Jamie pointed it out that he realised he was just distracting himself.

And admittedly it was true.

Days turned into night and night into day, hours spent writing and then deleting. He hadn't felt ease since the last night he shared his bed that was now a reminder of what he had thrown away on the cusp of accidental words. His room grew messier with each frantic morning that he had slept in, not having the energy to tidy it when he returned nine hours later and the bags under his eyes became more visible every passing day. Back to square one. All positive change down the drain and he was back to his snappy, irritable self.

Jamie was barely home, the flat completely abandoned for almost ten hours each given day but Damon never felt alone. He hadn't had the time, the energy, the thought-power to even fathom the idea of loneliness. Except for now of course, mouth slightly ajar as he watched the candle burn out on the coffee table in a trance that was caught short when the end of his spliff had burnt his finger. The night felt distant and he found himself checking his phone one final time before throwing it across to the other sofa.

He wished she would text, although, he knew he wasn't deserving of it. Christ, she hadn't even spoken to Jamie nevermind him and it had only recently pooled into Damons head that Jamie wasn't to blame for once. He couldn't hide behind him, this was all his own doing. Words spoken in a bad moment, bad mood, bad head.

He looked to the floor, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand and holding it there momentarily while he felt the inability to move.
A guilty twitch of his lip, pushing his hand from his mouth to his eyes, and rubbing them profusely before leaning forward with elbows resting on his knees, head in hands.

The silence of the flat was deafening. Killing.

He groaned to himself, staring at the floor through his fingers for a few minutes. If Amelia was here she would've bullied him relentlessly for his sulks but, she wasn't and he hit his temple in annoyance before pushing a hand through his hair and traipsing to the kitchen, scuffing his feet against the marble.

The speaker in the kitchen coincidentally lulled Pulp and he couldn't help but to remember the times he had sang along with Amelia. But now, it all felt cold, dire and out to get him.

He only sighed, fatigue-riddled shaky hand reaching for the kettle and just about jumping out of his skin when the front door had opened, mentally too far lost to put up a fight against an intruder of sorts. Thankfully, it was a wasted worry when Jamie had near stumbled into the kitchen with a girl. Brilliant timing. "Damon."  He greeted.

"Are you drunk." A judgement.

Jamie pulled a face, hiccuping and moving to cup Damons face in his hand. "I'm living."
He quirked a brow, hitting his chest to prevent another hiccup before turning to the woman he had brought in. "This is Grace."

"Damon." He nodded to the quiet girl, sighing when he had turned back to Jamie. "It's Tuesday night." His tone that of an exhausted parent, reaching for a mug and producing Amelia's favourite one. He slammed the cupboard.

"And?" Jamie shrugged, watching as Damon battled with the jammed cutlery drawer.

"You're drunk."

"And happier than you." He tilted his head, setting a hand on the counter and clearing his throat to emphasise his point. "Get you later, mate." Damon nodded, biting the bullet and taking the mug from the cupboard.