Annular

13: No Regrets

The room felt vast and empty. Kyle's eyes remained unfocused, directed at a spot on the floor in front of his feet. Everything in his peripheral vision seemed to vanish into oblivion. All of the furniture, appliances, and electronics cluttering his apartment no longer existed. The only thing left was an indistinguishable shape on the tile.

It was always there, just waiting to be discovered. He must have walked past it thousands of times since they first moved in two years ago, stepping on, around, or over without a clue to its presence. This imperceptible blob persevered through countless tenants, and it would continue to prevail until destruction finally came to rebuild and transform it into something new.

Kyle sat down cross-legged and focused to get a better look. The simple splotch was a monotone brown on the beige tile, hardly distinctive from the countless other brown blemishes scattered across the room. This one was special, though. Upon closer examination, different shades seemed to pop out as if a photographic filter had been applied, and the shape slowly transformed to look almost like something discernible but never quite reached the moment of recognition. Kyle massaged the spot with his thumb. The texture felt flat and cold, reminding him of its disappointing insignificance.

He stood back up and grabbed his empty whiskey glass from the table. The stones rattled inside as he walked towards the kitchen to pour himself a refill. The envelope he had received from Tomás was laid out on the counter next to the bottle. A couple of pills were spilled out from when Kyle had opened it to take some earlier. He poured another double into his glass and took a swig, swishing the liquid around in his mouth while he eyed the drugs. He slammed the tumbler down and raised the envelope to let the entire contents fall into his hand, then scooped the stray pills from the counter to join the rest.

Kyle was forty-two years old, nine months younger than Elizabeth. Nearly half of his life—and the entirety of his adult life—had been spent with her. Friends had come and gone throughout their travels, but unlike for her, none stuck around on more than a superficial level. The only exception was Tomás, whom he had known for years before meeting Elizabeth, but even though they lived in the same city now, soon Tomás would return back to their hometown and fall into the same routines again. He only thought of travel as an extended vacation.

Kyle's mobile job afforded him the luxury of following Elizabeth wherever her work took them. Now, with the freedom of choosing anywhere for himself, not a single location appealed to him. The only decision he knew how to make was to follow. He held the most obvious destination in his hand.

He raised his hand and pushed the pills into his mouth, then took his glass and let the remainder of the liquid slide them down his throat. After swallowing, he exhaled and savored the taste of the whiskey. That warm glow resonated deep within his core, transforming into a gentle burn as if his insides were blushing. He laughed—a short, breathy "ha"—and felt his abdominal muscles contract. The stones rattled again as he placed the glass on the counter and poured another double.

Taking both the bottle and his tumbler glass with him, Kyle wobbled into the studio room and powered on the holographic display. He sat down in front of it and noticed that some of the icons split into doubles and joined together again, back and forth like a computational demo of mitosis and meiosis. He remembered reading an article about it being a common symptom amongst dopaholics.

"Call Tomás," he said.

The screen changed to Tomás profile photo. The low hum of the ringer seemed to have excessive reverb attached to it, bouncing off the walls and amplifying with each successive ricochet. It was mercifully cut off when Tomás answered.

"Hey. Couldn't sleep?" said Tomás, the dim light barely concealing his fatigue. He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"Just wanted to thank you for the DOPA."