Dancing in his room, bottle of booze in his hand, speakers on blast. The bass of the music shaking the floor beneath his feet as he stand still to take a sip, and another and another. The imaginary of his girl playing on repeat. How he missed her was an understatement. There were no words in the dictionary to describe the pain he felt thinking about he was with her. How he behaved when she was near.
“Harrington? You there?” Someone seemed to ask from outside, which caused him to turn the music up further. The loss of his girl caused him to lock himself up for days on end. He wasn’t planning to come out any day either. No chance.
This day, he had been drinking and dancing for what seemed to be close to four hours now. It calmed him down and quite literally drowned his thoughts.
And there she stood, in his room. Her face as angelic as one could be, her eyes as bright as the sky by day and her lips as red as roses. He looked at her, happy she was back again, back to him. “Are you staying this time?” He asked, walking over to her and holding her hand, taking another sip of the booze with the other one.
“No.”
He pulled her closer, wrapped her in an embrace as her arms folded together around his back. “I missed you,” he whispered, swaying her in his arms, a hand going through her hair as the bottle of booze seemed to have disappeared. “Prepare,” was her only response. He knew she wouldn’t stay, she would always leave, he knew.
What felt like days but had been hours, they danced, swayed and kissed each other regularly. The way he felt when she was there was something no one else ever could let him feel. She was different. She was his.
He closed his eyes in satisfaction, never wanting this moment to fade ever again, this feeling, this rush. But as soon as he opened his eyes again, she was gone, out of his arms. The bottle of booze was empty laying on the floor and he was feeling miserable again, causing him to walk over to his bed and lay down. Only for this ritual to be repeated again.
