{capax - able to achieve efficiently whatever one has to do; competent.}
Newt's pov:
Three days had passed by since I had last seen her, and I could finally feel the alcohol related headache beginning to cease.
Every ounce of my body ached.
It ached because I had allowed myself to indulge in alcohol, and anger and spite.
It ached because I was tired and because I had barely been eating or sleeping.
It ached because she wasn't with me, and just the simple act of her being around inevitably makes things better.
I had allowed myself to indulge myself in her, when I knew I shouldn't.
I had asked her to leave, when I didn't want her to go.
I could see it in her face when I told her to leave; she didn't want to go as much as I didn't want her to. But even now, looking back on it while sober, I knew it was the right thing.
I fucking hate alcohol. I hate how it makes me feel – hate how it makes me vulnerable; witless.
I can never think straight when it comes to her anyway, the alcohol just makes it worse.
The cold water that splashes across my face felt more sobering than the last three days combined. I sigh, wiping myself off with a towel before stepping back out into the room.
It was lonely in there without her – desolate and cold. I missed her whilst I slept; often found myself reaching out to touch her in my sleep and finding nothing but open space.
It made the air quiet and stony. It forced the silence around me to be heavier.
I had wanted her to stay with me that night; wished she had been stubborn enough to refuse to leave like I thought she would. But she was respecting my wishes, I think, and I've not seen her since.
I pull on my black trousers and throw a t-shirt over my head with the intention of heading for a quiet breakfast.
It was early, so I had assumed there'd be no one in the kitchen when I got there. I open my bedroom door slowly in an effort not to wake the others in the house and are immediately met with foul weather and far away hushed arguing.
I'd never heard such a sound before; it was somehow loud enough for it to be heard from a small distance but still soft and whispered enough for it to be almost impossible to make out.
One voice in particular was louder, however. More distinct.
A man's voice – one I was sure I didn't recognise.
The others around him are clearly trying to get him to lower his voice but he seems to just laugh in response and doesn't remotely do as asked.
I can hear the air become heated and tense between them, and it piqued my interest.
I wandered over to the kitchen and yanked the handle down to open the door.
The voices stopped.
Brenda, Fry and another man I hadn't met before were sat around the kitchen table, arguing softly. All three heads spin in my direction as I step into the room.
"Am I interrupting something?" I ask, closing the door behind me.
Bren stands quickly from the table, a concerned and angry look on her face.
"Newt, you shouldn't be here right now..."
Her demeanour and words are confusing. I look around the table, catching Fry's expression of apprehension and dread as the man I do not recognise stands from his seat also, wobbling slightly as he gets to his feet.
