Pills of love

That's me (part 2)

Benny had one simple plan: drink.

After coming out of that damned place full of loud people and deafening music and cramped spaces where it was difficult to even walk, he had catapulted himself out of the venue and had taken a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm down and calm his heart and command his eyes to stop stinging like that.

From there, he did everything like an automaton. He had called a taxi and gone straight to the train station. Only when he had set foot in Stockholm, hours later, tired and in low spirits, he had remembered the suitcase he had left in the small hotel he had booked for two nights. He would call them back the next day. Fuck the suitcase. Fuck the world.

Sitting in his armchair in the living room, that armchair which he had been saying for years that he had to change because it was too "sunken" by now, but which at that moment it seemed to him the perfect cocoon for his mood, he looked around his house. It looked emptier than usual, but maybe it was just a mental trick created by his mental and emotional state, making fun of him.

Although he felt tired, exhausted after a day back and forth on the train and another whole day of drinking, he still had an adrenaline rushing in his body from two days ago.

No, not for Frida.

'Fuck everything' he thought bitterly, not wanting to open that chapter again.

But the adrenaline had come like a punch in the face, like a bucket of cold water on a sultry summer evening and it didn't want to know to leave because, after all, it had been refreshing.

When he had come out of Frida's dressing room, he had found Lasse almost behind the door and... Well, he would never have wasted such an opportunity. Within moments, certain words had flown, accusations, veiled threats, until he had pushed him against a wall and said angrily that if he saw him still wagging his tail around Frida he would make him pay.

It was a summary of everything, of course, because the words had been very different and more particular and the push against the wall had perhaps been accompanied by something else, but Benny snorted and let out an almost involuntary grin. 'Take that, motherfucker. I swear I'll kill him if...' he shook his head and he rubbed a hand wearily over his eyes. God, he'd never been a violent man. Never. If there was one thing his mother had taught him more than anything else was not to resort to violence, not for anything in the world. But for her... No, with her every rational thought flew out the window never to return.

He no longer recognized himself. But the weirdest thing was that it wasn't even an annoying or wrong feeling, just that the loss of control of his feelings and his reason troubled him.

How was it possible to literally and inexorably fall like that after a short time of dating? How the heck was that possible? For him.

He, who had loved many women before. He, that had had so many experiences before... How could he have been reduced to a first grade schoolboy with her?

Benny sighed sharply and dropped his hand loudly against the arm of the damned chair, suddenly feeling hungry to tear it apart to vent a little anger, to distract himself.

Benny intended to spend all that long night, just like the previous night, indulging in alcohol and pity. Usually, when something annoyed or upset him, his piano was his confessional, his friend, his comfort. But at that moment he wouldn't have had even the strength to get to the stool, due to alcohol and tiredness and lack of will.

Not when he'd walked away from his source of pleasure and pain, after spending months trying to break into her articulated world, at times dark, but wonderfully kaleidoscopic.