Fidd and Ford.

Chapter 9

Caution: this chapter includes smoking, alcohol use, verbal abuse, swearing and domestic violence. Just wanted to warn anyone.

Ford awoke. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and reached out for his glasses. Pain shot through his arm."grr" he groaned in pain. Sunlight shone through the blinds. It was mid day. He wondered why Fidd hadn't came in to check up on him. Ford then sat up and clambered out of bed. He walked into the kitchen to find Fiddleford sitting at the kitchen table. He had an empty bottle of wine in one hand and a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

"Fiddleford, wh-what are you doing?" Ford asked, he was still in shock of what he was witnessing.
Fiddleford didn't respond, he just squinted his eyes and looked long and hard at Ford. "Fidd, you were doing so well" Ford took a step toward the table. Fidd had a giant bruise on his jaw from where he was punched. He had multiple bags under his eyes, he obviously hadn't slept all night. Fidd reached up to his mouth and pulled out his cigarette. He puffed out a cloud of smoke from a corner of his mouth.
"How are your ribs?" Ford asked softly.
"FUCKING SHUT UP!!!" Fidd screamed. In his burst of rage he jumped out of his chair and smashed the bottle of wine against the table. "Okay, okay" Ford said taking small steps toward the table.
"Fuck off, you queer" Fidd growled. "Fidd, just please calm down" Ford quivered as he feared for his life.
"You fucking calm down" Fidd snarled as he putt out the cigarette butt on the table. "Fucking pansy" Fidd grumbled.
"Fidd please just let me help you" Ford edged toward the table.
"Help me?" Fidd snorted "you think you can help me!" Fidd raised the broken wine bottle and pointed it toward Ford.
"Now Fidd I know your upset but this isn't you. This isn't the man I fell in love with. That man is sweet and kind and I know he is in there. Somewhere. He's lost and scared. I'm scared too. But Fidd please just listen to me. Please put down the bottle" Ford pleaded.
Fidd stood at the end of the table. He didn't say a word, he just squinted at Ford. For minuets they stood there, at stand still. Not a single word was spoken. Soon Fidd put the broken bottle on the table. He walked toward Ford. As he passed him he whispered "fucking queer" he spat on the floor and wiped his mouth before walking out of the room.

Ford stood in shock. He hadn't even noticed the pain shooting through his arm. He rushed to the kitchen counter to find the bottle of pain killers. He took out one of the small white pills and swallowed it without hesitation. He looked around the kitchen, empty bottles of wine cluttered the counter. Matches and cigarette ash covered the floor. Burnt out cigarettes were piled up in the sink and small pieces of glass were scattered everywhere. Ford sighed at the sight of the kitchen. "He was doing so well" he moaned. Ford then grabbed a broom and began to sweep the kitchen floor.