You Haunt Me

He sat at the foot of their bed—well, really his bed; he was having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that she wasn't going to be sleeping there with him ever again—clenching a bottle of whiskey in his hand. It was already well over half empty, and he could feel his head swimming from the alcohol in his system. Still, he just kept on drinking. He hated that he still resorted to getting wasted to escape, especially since he knew how she felt about that bad habit.

What did it matter, anyways? he thought to himself. She's not going to ever know about it.

Besides, he knew if he kept up with this reclusive behaviour, chances are no one would know.

He rubbed his face with his free hand, trying to gain even a shred of composure. It barely even registered to him that someone was calling his name until they were right there in front of him.

Glancing upward, he let out an audible sigh. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, you weren't responding to any of my texts, ignoring all my calls... I know it's hard but this has to stop," his best friend, Garrett, spoke. He'd been given a key to the house not too long before. He was well aware that knocking would get him nowhere, so he decided that it was a good time to put it to use.

John laughed bitterly, drinking more from the bottle still in his grasp. "I'm ignoring you for a fucking reason. I need to be alone right now, okay?"

"Look, John. This whole thing is so shitty, and I get that, but it's been weeks-"

"How the fuck could you even begin to get it?" John cut him off angrily, having to stop himself before he chucked the bottle at his friend's face. "You have no fucking idea. Don't you fucking dare come in here with that empathetic bullshit. I don't want to hear it."

"You're right," Garrett’s voice was now calm, trying to keep John off the defensive. "I don't know, but what I do know is that this doesn't solve anything." He gestured toward the bottle that was almost empty at this point.

John rolled his eyes before slurring a reply: "Maybe not, but it does help me forget."

Garrett sighed, sitting down beside him. "You have to stop this. Things are never gonna get better if you don't face shit straight on. Looking at all her stuff really probably doesn't help, either."

"I know," John exhaled audibly. "I just... I don't know how to deal with it. She was the only person I ever actually loved, you know? And I guess it's... I... It's hard for me to come to terms with the fact that it's over. It's just all fucking over just like that."

Garrett nodded, trying his best to be comforting without setting him off again. "Moving on is hard, but you have to. You can't do this to yourself."

John shrugged, finishing off the last of the contents of the bottle before dropping it on the floor with a soft thud. "I'm not ready to yet, I guess. I don't know if I ever will be."

His friend patted his arm, the gesture feeling almost awkward. "Well, a good start would be maybe seeing Harmony-"

John flinched away at the mention of her name. "I... I can't."

“John…” Garrett began. "It's been over a week since you've seen her."

He shook his head frantically, running a hand through his hair. "I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why not? You've hardly seen her since the-"

"I said I fucking can't, okay?" John exploded, getting up from his spot that he'd been sitting in over the last couple of hours. It felt like the floor was sliding out from under his feet, and he placed his hand back on the bed to balance himself.

"Okay, well when you're going to stop being such a fucking coward, I think she'd like to see you," Garrett spoke, his tone harsh. At that point, he didn't care as long as he got the point across.

"Get the fuck out," John gritted his teeth, pointing toward the bedroom door.

"Already gone," Garrett muttered, moving past him.

John listened, waiting until he heard his front door open then slam shut. He picked up the empty whiskey bottle from his floor, throwing it at the wall and watching as it shattered into a bunch of shards. He knew he'd have to deal with the mess at some point, but he was so mad he didn't care. His head was pounding, and he could feel tears stinging in his eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. Stumbling over to the bed, he threw himself onto it, falling asleep in it for the second time since she'd left.