Glittering Gold | ONC 2024

Chapter 8: A Resolution

CONTENT WARNING

This chapter contains mature sexual themes and profanity that may not be suitable for a very young audience.

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Danilo slept at Miguel's place. He'd come knocking at five in the morning, almost begging his friend to let him stay.

Miguel had been generous enough to let him in, not even asking what happened, though Danilo suspected his friend already knew.

"So, you decided not to go to work today?" Miguel set a cup of hot coffee in front of Danilo. They sat in Miguel's dining area, a small space not separated from the kitchen in a dingy apartment.

"I texted my boss. I told him I wasn't feeling well. But I'm not getting paid for this like you were," he said, pressing two fingers over the bridge of his nose to stifle a headache. "And I really am not feeling well."

"You should sleep more. Lack of sleep can kill you, you know?" Miguel said.

"I didn't know that. I always thought I'd sleep more when I'm dead."

"That's a fucking lie they tell people on the graveyard shift."

Danilo sipped his coffee, drinking in the scent of good morning. He was grateful for his friend but also jealous. He'd give anything to have a better job than being a custodian in the park. Anything to leave his family and have his own place, even a crap apartment like this.

"Well, I'll be leaving for work soon. You can stay and sleep here if you want," Miguel offered.

"Thanks. This is only temporary. Just until my mother's head cools off." Danilo wondered if that would ever happen. Lately, his mother had always been angry, always looking at him like the bad sheep that he was.

"Let's hope that's soon enough." Miguel prepared for work, wearing his white office uniform. Before leaving, he'd told Danilo not to eat all the food in the fridge.

But Danilo was hungry, and he'd done just that--finished every cooked meal prepared in the fridge, which wasn't much, just some cooked half-eaten fish and a cup of rice. He knew Miguel wouldn't mind.

He'd taken a four-hour sleep after that and woke up at noon to find a can of food in the cupboards, and he'd finished that too, leaving nothing to eat in the house.

He sat on the dining table, staring at his emptied plate, his eyes tracing the crumbs on its face. "What are you doing with your life, Danilo?" he asked himself.

Regret and pity crawled over his back. For the first time, the hate was directed inward, knowing that this was all his fault. He'd put himself in a situation where he couldn't return--not to the boy his family knew him to be.

He'd used his father's death as an excuse for his actions for the last seven years. He'd started drinking and smoking the month after his father died and enjoyed the vices. He even tried using marijuana, but as a high school graduate, he couldn't afford it.

In recent years, his drinking had become more often until he'd done it every night. He's had rare days when he was sober. He was a drunk.

His smoking had increased too, consuming a pack a day, especially when he started working as a custodian. Getting a salary that was only enough to cover his smoking and drinking, he relied on his family to take care of everything else--his food and his clothes. And he'd never shared on the bills, not once.

"Fuck you, Danilo," he whispered to himself. He looked up from his plate and stared at the ceiling, his eyes catching the dark yellow circle stains from a recent rain leak. "What now?"