SINcere.

Puke.

The gun clicked, but nothing came out. It wasn't loaded. 

A frightened Steve and a stunned Eve hurriedly took whatever they came for and went out of that room, like zebras running away from a group of predators. Eve didn't even take everything. She left some stuff, but if she asks me for them, it'll be a shame, because I burnt them all! 

After they left, it was like I was another person. The alcohol was still in my system and in a way to drain away the adrenalin and tension; I ended up tearing down all the pictures of Eve and I from the walls and drawers. With all my might, I hurled the picture frames to the floor.  

It felt good.  

There were pieces of broken glass and ruined photos everywhere in the apartment. But I didn't dare touch you and mum's pictures. You are family and blood is thicker. 

Like rain after the thundering sky, I broke down. I cried like a pathetic four old again. 

The door swings open and I follow Bastian into the dark room. We don't bother to switch on the lights - too drunk to do so. We are laughing and speaking with slurred voices and in-articulate sentences. 

''Thaaa waz - '' Bastian starts to say as he stumbles on his two feet and then falls to the floor ''-greeaat...''  

I laugh like a hyena while seeing two Bastians rolling on their stomachs like a dog. It's always a relief to see him under the influence, because he isn't as up tight and self-righteous. However he rarely drinks like this. Ai kind of forced him to and well, I also pressured him to do so, because I was taking multiple shots at once. 

I manage to carefully walk over him, not knowing which blurry image of him is the real one and which one is the result of cheap liquor and nicotine. With my head pounding, I stagger my way to the small kitchenette at the corner to grab a glass of water. 

I suddenly frown at the glass. I haven't drunk water in weeks. Unhealthy? I know. My eyelids fall shut and then reopen. Blackness covers my irises, and then disappears. My vision refocuses back onto the glass of water in my hand. My stomach churns.  

Her face has appeared onto the glass. I want to puke. 

Why? Why is she haunting me like this? Everywhere I go, she's there or at least her image pops up into my mind, either smiling or laughing - never the bad images - torturing me to miss her even more. Again, why me? 

I clench the glass and my knuckles turn white. I want to throw it at the cabinets and get rid of her face from my eyes, but I won't. I blink a couple of times. Bastian wouldn't like that. Dark spots cover my vision and my head spins. I quickly gulp the water down my throat. The cold sensation works wonders to my body's hot temperature. And at the same time I feel the rising vomit pushed down to my rocking stomach. 

Ah, that's better. But I better go rest before I pass out in the kitchen. 

With that I stumble my way round the kitchen counter tops and glance around the small space. Bastian isn't on the floor anymore. Where did he go? Then I hear a revolting sound of vomiting coming from the corridor.  

Ah, so that's where he went. 

Unfortunately, hearing him spew in the bathroom is making me want to do the same. I shake my body and force it down. My stomach is still churning, but at least I am not as vulnerable to alcohol like a light weight. So I will survive for now. 

With my kicks and shirt on the floor, I lie down on the couch not even bothering to cover myself with the blanket. It's too hot, even though a couple of sober hours ago, it was freezing cold. It must be the spirit contents inside of me, turning up my body heat uncomfortably.