SINcere.

Messed up.

Great. A week is all I have. 

The cheap beer runs down my dry throat as I finish the bottle. Then I grab my fourth drink of the Evening. 

Where am I supposed to get the money for the rent for this month and the next, and so on? I have no job and it took me months to get the van Owen job. No thanks to that scumbag since he got me fired.  

I greedily consume the cheap spirit in a bottle. The burning liquid is just making me more angry and anxious, instead of erasing my troubles. 

Where am I going to stay? 

I run a hand through my hair, messing it up from my earlier 'attempt' at slicking it back. The bottle of beer is now almost done. Just one more sip and I can move on to the next one. 

I have nowhere else to go. 

How long have I even been sitting on the kitchen floor and drinking my pain away? Which may I add, isn't working all that well. Come to think of it, it never actually worked seven years ago either. 

I am embarrassed. My hope was so high. I thought it would be my girl. The least she can do is answer my calls instead of ignoring me and playing me like a fool. What wrong have I done to her to deserve this cold treatment? 

Anger increases my heart beat, causing blood to rush around my body in a higher pressure than normal. As long as I remember, I was always the good guy. When did I turn out to be the villain here? It's obvious who she should be ignoring- her father and those relatives of hers. Not me! 

My body is numb from sitting in the same position for too long. My vision blackens one second and then comes back clearer. This is not a good sign. My head is also spinning from thinking too much. I listen for any ringing of a phone or knocking at the door.  

Nothing. 

Just the mocking silence. 

There's a pounding at my temples. My head is clouded with alcohol and cigarette components; it's starting to make me feel really light headed. The floor is cold- just like my heart- I should get up. But where shall I go? 

My eyes scan around the apartment. It doesn't feel the same anymore. It feels colder, more like a prison. A reminder of what a failure I am. Eve is out of my life for good, I fear. I have nothing else to live for. My heart clenches in a pathetic agreement.  

Was I meant to be a good-for-nothing for the rest of my life?  

''Maybe you were.''  

I groan at that annoying voice that seems to be haunting my mind. I sneer, ''I am not talking to you!'' 

I continue with my self-pitying thoughts that have attacked me for a while now. Is being a troubled kid my destiny...? If it is, then it's better not to be alive. 

My skull feels heavy. I sway and stumble on my feet in a drunken stupor. My vision is hazy as I move towards Eve and I's bedroom.  

''It's your bedroom now.'' Bloody hell, it's that sadistic voice again. 

''Shut up! I told you to leave me alone!'' 

The all so familiar panic seizes me. The liquids in my stomach are dangerously rocking back and forth like the waves of the sea. I stop walking as a sense to vomit punches me in the gut and then I resume walking again as I feel the nausea escape me a little.  

Okay Murray, get a grip! She's coming back. I should just wait for her. But what shall I do while I wait? 

I almost trip and fall, but manage to hold my weight against the wall. I look up. There are a number of picture frames above me. But one stands out among the ones Eve and I took together.