Homecoming
Part Two
I took another swing of the alcohol I had bough only a few hours ago. The bottle was still in the brown paper bag the clerk had packed it in. I remember walking home to my shit ass so called ‘apartment’ and opening the bottle of strong liquor only seconds after I slammed the ‘apartment’ door behind me.
I liquor went down easily enough and I soon became less aware of the pain I was currently feeling. But still after every swing, after every drunken hiccup and after every outburst of angry screams I had I glared at the phone.
It was if the phone was silently mocking me, almost laughing at me, because it knew that she wouldn’t call. Some part of me knew that she wouldn’t call, but I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want her to pity me, I didn’t want her to feel anything of remorse towards me, I only wanted her to call me, if she was coming home.
I liquor went down easily enough and I soon became less aware of the pain I was currently feeling. But still after every swing, after every drunken hiccup and after every outburst of angry screams I had I glared at the phone.
It was if the phone was silently mocking me, almost laughing at me, because it knew that she wouldn’t call. Some part of me knew that she wouldn’t call, but I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want her to pity me, I didn’t want her to feel anything of remorse towards me, I only wanted her to call me, if she was coming home.