The Hurt Game

❧ forty-two

In all these moments I spent my time living with Royden, I had seen some of his demons. I had experienced his anger, his desperation to be seen, his self-destructive side. I knew about his troublesome nights, about his bad habits. Sometimes I would wake up in a warm, but empty bed and I would find Royden standing on the balcony with a cigarette between his lips.

However, these moments became less frequent. Things had become better the past couple weeks. He smoked less, grabbing less towards alcohol after work. He slept through the night more and more, rarely waking up in the middle of the night and leaving the bed. There were still times he awoke, but most times he would fall back asleep.

Throughout these months of dating Royden, I thought I had seen everything by now. I would have thought the worst demons had left him, only a few shimmering around. They would only appear in the situations they were created in.

Apparently I was wrong. When I arrived back home, the air filled with alcohol and cigarette smoke greeted me. I stopped in my tracks, not even having stepped fully through the door. The strong scents gripped around my throat. It was like a slap in my face, unexpected and unpleasant.

As I fully stepped in the apartment, closing the door behind me, my eyes found an unconscious Royden on the couch. My heart quickened in my chest, hammering furiously. I dropped my bag, stripped off my coat, to let it fall behind me on the ground, and hurried towards his side. I took his wrist in my hands and searched for a beat with my forefinger.

A breath of relief escaped my lips and my head dropped on the couch. He was still alive; a steady beat pounded beneath my finger. He was still with me although knocked asleep with everything he had inhaled or swallowed.

I shifted around, so my back was against the couch as I sat on the ground. My eyes glanced at the table, which was littered with cigarette buds, and empty and crushed cans of beer. Some cans had fallen on the ground. They joined the empty whiskey bottle.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, breathing in. It was all cigarette smoke that lingered in the air. Any kind of smell that might have been from the flowers were gone, drowned with the Tabaco.

A light groan broke the silence behind and I turned my head to see Royden waking up. He rubbed his face before running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. He pushed himself on his elbows, only then his eyes found my form. He jumped a little and his hand went to his heart, breathing a little heavier.

"Jesus fuck," he muttered when he recovered and slumped back on the couch. I shifted to face him, looking at him when he closed his eyes again.

"That's what crossed my mind when I walked in," I murmured, keeping my voice low, so it wouldn't provoke the headache he was probably feeling.

I pushed myself on my feet and sat down next to his hip. I reached over and cupped his face in my hand. Delicately I ran my thumb along his cheekbone. His hand roamed around till it touched my leg and he gripped my thigh.

"I feel like sh―" He stopped abruptly, sitting up quickly and pressing his hand to his mouth. His eyes were wide, but he still looked a mess. He lowered his hand slowly, breathing out before shaking his head and bolting out of the room.

I followed him into the bathroom where he was already puking all contents from his stomach. I crouched next to him and rubbed his back, brushing back his hair from his forehead. It was warm and sweaty.

"I'm here," I quietly said.

He retched once more before lingering above the toilet and after a few seconds leaning back. He wiped his mouth with his shirt as he rested against the wall. He breathed deeply yet quickly as his eyes slipped close.