Spliced

Chapter 2

I walk through the marble halls of my flat. My feet lazily trail behind me. They mark each step in the characteristic pattering of bare soles on marble flooring. The stark white nature of the apartment soothes my sadness, but my senses are quickly put edge when I turn the corner. When I reach the living room, I find my good friend Ethan (now roommate) passed out naked on the couch coupled with two nude women each adorned in a smear of vibrant makeup.

"Hookers," I whisper in disgust. I scan the scene for what might have caused the shattering sound and find a shards of glass in a puddle sitting between the couch and coffee table. Disappointment fills my thoughts. I take a deep breath in to calm myself.

 From a distance, I inspect the couch for anything else that might have broken on or near the couch, and I take notice of a bottle of unlabeled liquor in one hand and the other in embrace of the brunette prostitute. The stench of vomit and alcohol punches me in the face causing me to take a few steps back in recoil. I hastily turn the corner and rush to the kitchen to clean up the vomit. I brush past the silver-plated refrigerator. A wall of anger stops me in my tracks. I retrace my steps until I face my reflection. That sick bastard looks at me with shit-brown eyes. I hate that bastard's wet-cardboard brown hair, specks of dirt spattered across the bridge of his nose, his pale lifeless skin, and his thin figure. Words can't express the hatred I hold for my appearance.

"Hey, Ezra, are you okay?" he puts his hand on my shoulder. Ethan must have woken up while I was preoccupied with my reflection. He had managed to put on clothes but to a bare minimum. I glance behind me, only to find the two women are still sound asleep on the couch still sound asleep. 

"Yeah. I was just preoccupied."

"You know, I never knew you had a fascination with refrigerators." Ethan chuckled while pacing to the cupboard. Ethan combs through his slick-back blond hair. His face is less taut than usual from the debauchery he'd taken part of last night. His skin had gotten more darker as if he'd been exposed to the sun at the dead of night.

"What's all this about, Ezekiel?" I ask, frustrated with the mess in the living room.

"Haven't heard 'Ezekiel' in a long time," he sighs, looking up with his quartz-blue eyes. 

"This isn't time to reminisce the use of your actual name, " I chide, unsatisfied with his answer. Ethan's cheeks start to flush with red as if he were embarrassed.

"Well?" My hands find their place on my hips.

"I couldn't help it. My coworkers were going to go hang out at a bar after work, and they wanted me to come, so I did. When I left it was about midnight, and I walked home from the bar drunk and one thing led to the next and now here we are-" he glances at his watch, "at seven-sixteen in the morning talking about this whole ordeal."

"My god Ezekiel! You're twenty-three and you still can't get a grip?" I ask pointedly in hopes to get a reaction out of him.

His shoulders tense up, and his face turns sour. "What do you want from me? A guy's gotta live a lil' in his twenties." He freezes. I freeze. We both hear footsteps in the living room. I glance to my right and he glances to his left. We both see the disgruntled women standing at the side of the couch attempting to get dressed. I motion to him to at least take care of his guests. He recoils at my motion. I nudge him in encouragement to deal with the situation. He trudges his way into the living room and sparks conversation with the ladies. "Hey ladies! Anything I can do for ya?" The women's voices are muffled as if they were in a closet.

I sigh deeply in hopes that the whole situation had resolved itself, and carry-on with making breakfast before I head out to the Firm for the first assignment of the week.