Painting Is Silent Poetry

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When he first got to the bar, Adam had the intention of spending a mere ten minutes, hoping by that time he could go to the apartment, Emma would be alright and that she could talk to him about whatever was bothering her. But after the first drink Adam kept buying. It wouldn’t have been accurate to say he was completely drunk, just enough to be swept into a hole of self-loathing.

Why didn’t Emma want to sleep with him? There was of course the simple answer that perhaps she just wasn’t attracted to him, but at the start she’d seemed to be. Or, was that all in his mind? Was she just not fighting him off, trying to lesser the rejection because they were friends. God, he hoped not.

In the more sober side of his mind, he knew that Emma wouldn’t have stepped toward the bed if she wasn’t at least a little attracted to him, but the slightly intoxicated side didn’t really care for that information. He’d wanted Emma for months and her rejection did hurt him, as well as her sadness did. He’d seen the tears in her eyes as she’d fled from him and hated that he’d done that. He just didn’t know what he’d done to her.

Before long, the bartender, seeing Adam had the wobbly walk of a drunk, refused to serve him another drink and Adam knew it was time to pack up. Where would he go though? Emma would probably be in the apartment, so he couldn’t go there. He couldn’t go to his parents, they lived hours away and, besides, he’d alienated them too much when he was in high school to have a close relationship with them. He had friends, of course, but not ones that he could drop by without notice. Emma was his closest friend.

He looked at his clock and was startled to see that it was only seven. He realised he hadn’t had dinner yet but his stomach rebelled at the thought. Maybe, he should just go back to the apartment. Seeing Emma would probably be a bad idea in his state (he’d probably throw up on her) but maybe she’d be out. Hopefully.

Adam went home to an empty apartment and felt strangely empty. He was used to Emma not being here, he stayed home while she went to work, but she always tried to come home around dinner time. Home. For some reason, Adam focused on it. It was their home. Both of theirs. What would they do now that Emma was avoiding him? Was she avoiding him? He assumed so.

Anyway, how would this be their home? They both called it that, but how could it be? Homes were for families, loved ones, couples. They weren’t any of those things.

Adam got a sudden pain in his head. He clutched his head in his heads and prayed he wouldn’t be sick. He always got this reaction to alcohol and, honestly, he hadn’t been intending to be drunk, just spend some time away from Emma.

He remembered the last time he’d been drunk. Emma and him had both gotten drunk and had a taxi take them home. Neither were the classic kinds of drunk, crazy, miserable, excited, slutty, and neither did they spill all their secrets. Both were slow, slightly depressed and sick. They took turns throwing up in the bathroom, holding back each others hair. After it they both made a pledge to never be drunk again.

Seems he’d broken it.

*

Emma went home to the highly disgusting sound of someone being sick. She could hear Adam in the bathroom groaning. He sounded horrible.

“Emma?” he called miserably. She couldn’t help but feel miserable along with him. She went over to the bathroom and leant her head against the doorframe, looking at Adam huddled over the toilet.

“Adam…” she simply said. He looked horrid. “Not the best of days, was it?”

He chuckled slightly and nodded. “I’ve had better.”

She gave him a small smile. “If you’re done throwing up, I’ll help you into bed.”

He smiled back at her, “Thanks, Em.”

“Don’t mention it.”