Revival

Dylan- Chapter One

I know my breath is nothing but Scotch, my eyes are bloodshot and my face doesn't resemble the youth it should.

I know.

And I also know that all those stupid shit, rich pricks around me don't care about any of that. They only care about one thing: to get the deal sealed. To get their money flowing and to sign those damn papers as soon as they can, so they can leave and head out for the next deal. I know all of that. That's why I'm not trying to pretend that I'm here for anything different.

I sign the last sheet of paper with a shaky hand, and close the folder with way too much force, causing all the bald heads turn in my direction.

"That was nice and easy gentlemen." I take my time to look into each set of tired eyes, letting them know that, indeed, I'm glad how easy this deal went. "See you on the other side of the ocean." I manage a wink as I lift the glass of water to my mouth.

They all start talking at the same time, and it's all muffled to me, I don't hear it. I'm gone the second my mind stops focusing on the contract I just signed. I stand and shake dozens of hands mechanically, nodding my head to what I suppose are congratulations and hopes for a great partnership in the future.

Yes, sure, yes, we will do great, yes, we will probably work together again soon. Same shit every time I close the deal. Same words. Same reactions.

It used to bring me satisfaction. It brought me a high.

Not anymore.

Not since she's been gone.

Nothing makes sense since she's been gone.

And nothing will ever do.

Ever again.

Even when she wasn't mine, when she wasn't by my side, I knew she was around. I knew she was there, and now, nothing. Emptiness. The black stone of her grave left behind. Fuckin' A!

I need a drink; I need a fucking drink at this very second. So I shake all those remaining hands faster and nod my fuzzy head rapidly thanking them for the pleasure of doing business and head straight for my office.

Once the doors are closed behind me, I rush to my not-so-secret cabinet and pour myself a good double dose of amber liquid. I sit, and take a long sip that burns my throat and slides down to my stomach, warming its path. I try to push away the image of the brown eyed beauty that is with me no matter how much I try to let her go, no matter how much I drink, and no matter how many pussies I try to fuck in order to forget.

She is still everything.

She is still very much alive in my head, even though I know there is nothing left of her. Literally, there is nothing left of her. Five months later, she's buried in the ground. There is nothing left of her. Nothing. Not even her ashes. And how do I know that? I checked, I read this stuff like it is the fucking Bible just to know what is going on with her. Every word, every fucking word on that shitty Google page made me spasm, made me convulse and gag at the thought of my love, my only love going through that horrifying shit of death.

I know people say that life goes on, that I'm still very much alive and I should keep going, but honestly, to me that's the saddest fucking part. Sure, life goes on, but it goes on without her by my side. Without her generous eyes looking at me, without her sweet mouth covering mine, without her raspy voice whispering in my ears. That's not life; without any of this, that's a fuckin' vegetative state. Survival. Getting from point A to point B without thinking about the in between. Although my in between is numbing the life, numbing everything that is making me feel.