The others

Strange nights

Joe sat there alone. His fork lazily pushing around the plate of pasta he had made himself as he used his other hand to hold his head up. His knees were pressed up against the kitchen island to stop himself from moving around on the broken old bar stool, whilst his back left him bent over in defeat. The gentle line of tears down one side of his cheek remaining the unashamedly, whilst the tissue poking out the pocket of his hoodie began beckoning his name once again.

Two days ago Joe felt as if he was on top of the world. He had two women in his life, one of which he was so close to spending guilt free time with, and the other which he was barely hours away from freeing from his life, along with the guilt she had forced her to accumulate.

But now, sat there in the cold lighting of his kitchen with not even his roommate to accompany him. And for the first time in nearly ten months, Joe felt well and truly alone.

Sighing softly, Joe forced another mouthful of pasta into his mouth. A simple meal which had taken him twenty minutes to prepare, now seeming to take him nearly forty five minutes to consume. It was cold, unappealing, and quite frankly a pitiful excuse for good food. But it's all he felt he had in that moment, so despite the hollow churn of his stomach he kept on eating until eventually every mere morsel of food was gone from before him.

Sighing audibly once again, Joe gathered up the plate and placed into the dishwasher. Busying himself with any other menial chores as he tried his hardest to ignore the fact that he was indeed alone. A single man living in London... 27 years-old and alone... the same way he was ten months ago before he met that sprightly, Welsh brunette in a bar. Only now to find her back in his head, and the wave of guilt he had so desperately wanted to pass off onto her, boomeranging straight back into his heart.

But nothing, not even Holly and the tears she shed on Sunday evening, could compare to the self-hatred Joe felt earlier that morning. The morning where not only did he see the true colours of the woman who he had become, for want of a better phrase, obsessed with, but also the same morning where he had finally understood what it meant to fall for someone.

It was different with Holly, or so the brunette thought as he continually dried an already dry glass as he mind began to wonder, when he met her in that bar all those months ago. They were drunk, had a one night stand and then didn't strike up a conversation until the following morning. They spoke, found one another intriguing, and three months later claimed to be in love. But with Dianne... All Joe knew was that when he watched that taller, bigger, more attractive man walk in hand in hand with the woman he wanted the feeling of jealousy that coursed through every fibre of his being was something that he had never experienced before. Something so strong that it took all of his might not to break down in front of her. And despite the tears he had shed over a small bowl of cold pasta roughly half an our prior, it continued to do so.

The entire day had been spent with the two of them after that. As despite their inhibitions, the Mancunian actor had seemed to make it his mission to stay within 10 metres of the redhead at all times. A factor which not only seemed to make Joe unnecessarily angry, confused, and hurt, but also something that made the process of learning the romantic intricacies of the waltz all the more difficult.

Sighing softly once again, Joe shook his head - snapping his eyes out of the trance he had callously placed himself under. Placing the now bone dry glass back into the cupboard behind him, Joe made his way out of the kitchen. The limited options of what to do now seeming to torment him as he looked out into his living room. The previous images of him and Byron playing Mario Kart, or of he and Holly drinking red wine on the sofa seeming to dissipate within seconds.

"Only nine o'clock ay." He mumbled to himself gently as he checked the time on his watch. He wasn't tired... he wasn't even a little drowsy... He was wide awake and as alert as a dear in headlights. Yet the idea of doing anything else but getting underneath his duvet and falling into a state of content sleep seemed to send an unwelcomed shudder through his bones.