A Night To Remember

30. preaches of a priest

Azrael Carmen

I sat on the ground of the basement tonight. Darkness surrounded me. It creeped over and kept me company. The sound of bones crashing concrete drown out the loud silence. I pressed my back against the door of his room like I did every nights. My jaw clenched as I glared ahead at nothing, hands fisted at my side.

I would be so utterly still sometimes, wordless all the time in between. My heart pounded inside my chest and every strings of vessel threatened to rip apart from my body. I wanted to tear open that door. Just to see how he was doing. Maybe to hold him in my arms and suffer with him. I wanted to know if he felt whatever he was feeling like knives in his side and asked how much pain a person should be in after losing someone. If he was going to be suffocated with too much sadness one day and simply ceased to exist because I could and would never understand what he was going through.

I wanted to tell him I couldn't remember the last time I saw him smile or even remember the sound of him saying my name anymore.

But, instead I sat outside and listened to the sound of self destruction and pure grief. I let his absence went through me like a thread of needle stabbing my inside stitch by stitch.

He picked up something. Probably a new piece of furniture he didn't know I replaced every other day he left the house. Because he had been out of it. I didn't think he remembered I was here with him or knew that I was here for him, everyday and always.

The door rattled violently behind my back as something crashed into it. It shattered the same time his broken curse echoed from the room. A sharp pain pinched the side of my bare thigh, causing me to jump slightly. I lowered my gaze to the floor and caught the sight of a small piece of black marble flying through the gap under the door. I frowned as I picked it up and inspected the broken shard, identifying it as the lamp I recently picked out for his beside dresser.

I put everything in his tab anyway. Elliot could break whatever his heart desired as long as I knew he was alive in there.

I never really realized how long I sat here. It could be minutes. Hours. Forever. A grimace made its way to my face, realizing I should buy a clock and hang it somewhere and grab a thick jacket with me tomorrow because it was so cold down here.

I didn't leave. Not until he took the last punch on the wall and drank the last sip of his precious whiskey. The empty bottle dropped down with a soft thud and I heard the bed shuffled exactly ten seconds later.

Then I stood up from my spot and opened the door. My gaze took in the absolute shit storm that was previously my basement turned bedroom. I felt my eyebrows twitched at the mess he made. Broken glass shattered all over the carpet. There were dents in the wall and every paintings and pictures he had hung up before crumbled to the ground. I exhaled at the sight of a picture frame of him and his grandfather, the smiles on their faces almost mimicked the last ones I saw that day until empty stare and crimson blood replaced the memory.

He sprawled across his duvet, all messy hair and rumpled dress shirt. Drunken disheveled bastard with bruised knuckles. I never guessed I would be seeing him in such a mess. My fake boyfriend who wore his good looks with arrogance and grace. I stalked over to his side and pulled the blanket over him.

"I think I miss your ugly grin." I whispered to him in absolute horror.

I traced his jawline as he slept. Or maybe he finally passed out from all the alcohol he consumed. My fingers trembled a little despite my effort to not care about him when I brushed past the gash on his lips. Blood dripped and dripped, the slippery copper stuck to my skin like unwanted stain. Pressing my thumb into the bloody wound, I grumbled down to him. "You had a week to sulk. Time's up."