Beauty and the Beast | Fillie

One of the drunks

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APRIL

One month had passed since their last meeting in that restaurant, and their unforgettable sleepover which made both of them happy and carefree, and letting them taste what their life would have been without any problems in the middle.

But one swallow does not make a summer, and the situation was still complicated for both of them.

After Grace's initial doubts, and the fact she had hired Oakes to keep an eye on him, Finn needed to be extremely careful, more than ever before.

In that sunny and quiet day of spring,  Wolfhard came to a simple conclusion: if there was something he hated with all of himself, those were changes.
Changes implied new things, new experiences, new feelings, and a lots of consequences he seriously couldn't deal with. So, when the young CEO was leafing the catalog Grace gave him in order to purchase their new house, he wasn't particularly interested. His fingers were touching lightly the pages of the little book as he was staring annoyedly at a bunch of mansions and villas right there in Vancouver.

"No, this sucks ass, no, fucking no...." he kept murmuring, while cutting all the options offered with an annoyed frown.

That house was to "small"; the other one "didn't have a pool"; the other one was "mother fucking disgusting"; one could have been pretty but the "garden was awful".

"These houses are all awful, Jesus fucking Christ." he growled in frustration, closing the catalog and slamming his head on the kitchen island.

His hand grabbed the pills he always took with him since January, gulping them harshly down his sore throat. Yes, those were bottled magic. Relaxing pills were always helpful, indeed. Especially after a drink or two, at night, when the distance was too unbearable, when her voice hunted him, when her perfect bronze eyes never left him.

Since last month, he didn't hear about Millie anymore. He didn't know a thing. He stopped checking where she went —as a good control freak he always kept track of her, her GPS was still on her phone— or sending her gifts.
He wondered if she was forgetting about him.

"You just need to look for it better!" Lilia replied, rubbing her hands dirty with flour with a dish cloth.

"I don't need to look better." he snapped, his hand already in his pockets trying to find the little cartoon box, "I just don't want to move from here."

Time for a cigarette. Old habits were coming back. He wants to destroy himself in all the ways possibile, a sort of self punishment because he was trying to forget about the only thing that made him smile.

Finn brought the Red Marlboro to his lips, lightened it up, and finally took a long drag of it. His lips sweetly parted before exhaling the smoke, the cloud of nasty air intoxicating the environment around him.

He seemed to forget he wasn't alone; Finn was in the kitchen with Sarah, the head cooker, and Lilia.

Suddenly, the curly boy rolled up hid eyes at the cooker, doing the language sign in order to communicate with him: he told him to stop smoking because they were preparing lunch right there. In response, Finn just moved his fingers, telling her he was sorry and didn't think of it (the head chef of the house was deaf mute).

"Sarah is right. I thought you quitted." Lilia rolled her eyes, using her fingers to convey the message to the cooker, and finally grabbing the cancer stick abruptly from his lips and throwing it into the trash.

Passively, he let her do it. He didn't even the force to fight her back — everything was dying, including his force to react.
Life was just a terrible world without Millie, and a life without light, his light, was just an endless darkness which leaded him to death.