Just An Idea

Room 25

I knocked on the door to his condo.

knock knock knock.

"Mr. Howell." I hear a liquid being poured into a glass, the smell of wine hitting my nostrils. I know what is happening. I deliver his mail to him. He has prescription anti-depressants sent to his condo every month on the 10th. Zoloft. 50 mg. I take the same. I knock again.

Knock Knock Knock

"Mr. Howell, sir. Please open the door." I hear a pill bottle rattle and the lid pop off. I start to worry. I knock again.

Knock Knock Knock!

"Mr. Howell, open the door!"

"If one won't help, maybe the whole bottle will." I hear him sob.

Before I can think, I yell, "DANIEL JAMES HOWELL OPEN THE DOOR NOW!!!" I knock again.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I hear a glass drop to the hardwood floor and shatter. Then the pill bottle follows, spilling it's contents on the floor. There's a sob and a shaky in take of air.

"Mr. Howell, please open the door." I plead. I knock again.

Knock Knock Knock.

I hear muffled footsteps coming towards the door. There's a click as it unlocks. It swings open.

Mr. Howell, the CEO of Dargon Inc., the second biggest chocolate company, stands infront of me. I look over his normally clean attire.

His usually straight, kept brown hair was curly and disheveled. His normally clear, bright brown eyes were red and drained of all emotions but pain. His pale cheeks were red, puffy and tear stained. His lips were dry, peeling and cracked, strands of saliva in his parted lips, even more proof of his crying.

His suit, which was always steam cleaned and pressed everyday, was wrinkled and stained with red wine. His tie was tightened around his neck tightly, in an attempt to strangle himself. His jacket loosely hanging off his slumped shoulders and his undershirt wrinkled and unbuttoned, revealing his smooth, pale chest.

His belt was unbuttoned and hanging off his hips, and his trousers were crumpled at the thighs where he must have grabbed them in his efforts to stay grounded. He was missing one sock, while the other black one was barely hanging on.

I stepped towards him, into the doorway, and loosened his tie, giving him better access to oxygen. He wrapped his arms around me and brought me into his chest harshly, my head bouncing slightly. I wrapped my arms around him and drew soothing shapes on his back. I whispered reassuring words into his ear as he cried into my shoulder.

"Everything will be alright."

"You are doing great."

"We are all proud of you."

"It's okay to cry."

He inhaled a shaky breath and pulled away. I smiled at him comfortingly. "Let's sit down Mr. Howell." I led him to his couch, closing the door behind us. He sat down and I cleared off a spot on the table, sitting across from him. "Do you want to talk?" He shakes his head no. "May i clean up a bit then Mr. Howell?"

"Dan." He murmurs softly.

I nod. "May i clean up, Dan?" He nods.

I stood up and grabbed his broom and dust pan, cleaning up the broken wine glass and scattered pills. I throw it away and mop up the wine with a towel. Picking up the pill bottle as I stand, I throw the towel down the laundry chute and the bottle away. I pick up scattered clothes and send them down the laundry chute as well. I put his magazines in a stack and set them on the table.

{Still in progress}