Love, Out of Nothing At All

Dark House

I was breathing heavily and leaned over the lavatory, my knees on the bathroom rug. I rested my forearms on the seat and could feel the heaving in my chest. I breathed a little faster and could feel the gagging in my throat as I lunged forward a bit and gagged more. I felt warm residue on my lips. It was gross. Another heave came, so much for anythin’ I’d eaten today. I breathed heavily again and put my hands over my face and feeling the sweat on my forehead. I pushed my hair behind my ears. Not even Veronica was throwin’ up as much as I’d been in the past few weeks.

 Some people were criers; some people had their emotions right at the surface. I was not one of those people. Instead of tears or screams or whatever you want to call it…I threw up. It was way of maintaining control and believe me, I didn’t want to be throwin’ up every day twice a day. This is how I kept the balance of things and I was okay with it. I flushed the lavatory and stood up, still breathing heavily. I turned the water on in the sink just standing there while the water ran. I looked at the bar of soap sitting there, the aftershave on the ledge just above the sink, the bottle cleanser beside it. The razor, the perfume bottle and the hairbrush. I shifted my focus back to the running water. I watched it whirl down the drain. Finally, I wet my hands and slopped water on my face, dragging my hands down my cheeks slowly and staring at my reflection in the mirror.

 I turned off the water and reached for a towel, smearing it over my face. Turning out the bathroom light, I then walked into the bedroom. I stood there with a blank stare as I examined the war zone: the white down comforter was still turned down and wadded at the bottom of the bed. Roger’s clothes were lying on the floor, the belt still in the loops of his jeans and his long-sleeved shirt lying nearby. His t-shirt was partially under his bed. I kept staring. There were still indentions in the pillows, the sheet was twisted around and lying diagonally and the evidence was there; evidence that I couldn’t yet bring myself to get rid of. Five-hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets with a horrible crevice in it…where someone else had laid. There was a mostly empty vodka bottle on the nightstand and I could see a miserable smear of cheap lip gloss all over it. Beside it was an empty condom wrapper. At least one less than stupid choice was made. That girl must get around because I knew sure as hell there hadn’t been a condom in our home for over a year. The fact that a hair tie was lying beside it was more evidence that it was hers. I wasn’t gonna’ be the one who cleaned up the crime scene. “God…damn it…” I muttered under my breath before leaving the room, slamming the door behind me. It interrupted the silence of the house. I stood there for a moment, my hand still on the doorknob; closing my eyes and going over every detail of the room in my mind. I took a deep breath to calm myself. It was time for a cigarette.

 The stairs ached and moaned underneath my feet as I descended the staircase. I had a fire going in to fireplace. It hissed and crackled in the silence softly. The house was warm tonight. I could hear the clock ticking and the occasional car going down the street. I picked up the pack of cigarettes and the lighter laying on the bottom of the handrail. I lit one and inhaled deeply. Downstairs, I walked over and leaned against the wide, open doorframe that opened into the living room. My socks were warm and I was wearin’ nothing but my t-shirt. Roger's bomber jacket was hangin' by the door and pair of his shoes was on the floor. His bag was laying against the wall by his shoes along with his multi-colored hat on top. I watched the night sky out of the glass in the top of the front door. The streetlight drizzled in through the glass leaving white streaks across the floor. The house was completely dark with the exception of the light coming in through the bay window in the living room and the fire's warm glow. I went over and locked the door, flipping the deadbolt over. I took another drag on my cigarette and walked into the kitchen, opening a cabinet beside the refrigerator and taking out a bottle of whiskey. I unscrewed the cap and let the plastic hit the countertop. Returning to the living room, I sat on the couch in the faint light, curled up to the side closest to the end table. I had my pillows and my blanket neatly stacked at the other end.  I looked over to the answer phone...it was flashing at me. Taking a puff of my cigarette, I reached over and hit he play button.

 "You have five new messages." It said to me. The whiskey sloshed against the glass as I tilted the bottle to my lips and heard the beep.

 "Lydia. Lyd, I know you're there. Pick up the goddamn phone. Mary's home so I know you're home. Lydia." There was a heavy breath on the message. "Shit. Lydia, you know I love you. You know that. I'm sorry. I'm sorry Lyd. I'm so fuckin' sorry." The machine beeped.

 "I know you're sorry." I said out loud to no one. The next message began.

 "You're there. Pick up, Lyd. I love you. I love you, Lydia." The machine beeped again.

 "I know you do." I mumbled, taking another drink. Message three...

"Lyd, pick up the fuckin' phone. I gotta' talk to you." Another heavy breath on the message. "I love you….I do love you." The machine beeped and I took another drink. The next one began. There was silence at first and then a sigh.

 "Shit...I just wanted to hear your voice on the greeting." Another long silence. "I'm sorry. I love you." The machine beeped again and the last message played.

 "Look, I fucked up. I fucked up completely. I love you and I fuckin' hurt you an' me." I looked over at the machine. "I made a mistake Lyd...made a big fuckin' mistake." The machine beeped. I continued staring at the now non-flashing machine. I hit the rewind button:

 "Look, I fucked up. I fucked up completely..." I listened to the last message again in its entirety. The machine beeped.

 "Tape full." It warned me and beeped again. After another swig of whiskey, I sat the bottle down and hit eject. I took the tape out and opened the drawer on the end table for a new one. I threw the full tape in the wastebasket underneath the table and slid the new cassette inside, closing the lid. I ashed my cigarette in the ashtray beside me and picked up the bottle again. I let my weight rest into the side of the couch and listened to the fire as I swallowed another drink.