Gone Guy

Intoxicated Lives

I wake up to find him gone.
"Good riddance", I murmur under my breath. But I know I am making a fool of myself.

Something told me that he is never gonna come back and that he is gone for his own good. I know, deep down, that I am gonna miss him. Though I would never have admitted this to him...

I want to stay in bed a bit more and think about our dysfunctional relationship. But something makes me get up. A sharp pain is pulsing through my upper arm. I dont even bother to look. Must be a sprain or something.

I get myself out of our cozy bed. As I make for the door, I catch a glimpse of myself in our bedroom mirror. I am a mess. My hair is shabby and I quickly smooth it down and tie it into a bun. I look drunk and then I remember, I am drunk.

Drinking and fighting, thats what we are good at. Every couple has their own'thing'and this is our thing. We drank and we fought. But we always got back together. I just can't remember what I said yesterday, for him to bail out on me.

I try to remember last night. I can only remember bits and pieces. I remember us getting stone drunk and then snarling at each other. I remember myself shouting. I remember him groaning.

My head starts hurting from all the drunk memories. Everything is hurting me. The blinding light, the hubbub of traffic outside. I press my palms to my ears and screw my eyes shut. I curl up near our bedpost. I need him now. I need him to hug me and say everything is gonna be alright.

I curse myself for being so immature. For driving him out. Serves me right for my insolence.

I must have sat like that for a long time because my legs are hurting now. I feel hungry too. And my mouth is tasting stale from all the drinking I did.

I hoist myself up and make for the staircase. I walk down the stairs into our sitting room. It too is a humongous mess.

Everything is strewn everywhere and I can see broken bottles. Well, that's a first. However we drank, we never broke anything. We had a strict rule against vandalism.

He must have done it in a fit to show how angry he is. I stoop down to pick up a broken piece. I inspect it closely and almost give a startled cry. The broken rim is coated with drying blood.

'What the hell happened here last night??'.

I try to remember but couldn't fish anything more out from my gooey brain than I already know. I check myself for bruises. And then I remember the pain in my upper arm. In a frenzy, I roll up my sleeves and check. To my horror, I find that my right upper hand has many small scars running along it, like a sadistic design.

My eyes start brimming. Not from the physical pain. But from the realisation that he can actually hurt me.

So that explains his absence. B*****d!!

I am crying and cursing when I see it. A foot sticking out from behind our couch. So the b*****d didn't leave after all. Must have plonked down unconscious after seeing me bleed.

I pick up the broken bloody shard and move towards him. I dont intend to hurt him but I intend to scare him. Scare him right out of his ignorant stupor.

I move towards the couch and look down at him. His face is contorted as if he is crying for help. And then my eyes move down his body. And I scream at what I see.

His torso is riddled with scars, scars from a broken bloody shard. Blood has pooled and dried near him. And then I remember. I remember drinking. I remember fighting. I remember stabbing him again and again with a sadistic pleasure as his face contorted. I remember it now.

I collapse near his dead body. I cradle his head in my arms and I weep. I weep at my wickedness. I weep for his loss. My loss. I weep for the pain I inflicted on him. I weep for the monster alcohol made me. For the monster I am.

I reach for my phone and dial the Police. I tell my story with an eerie composure. And I repeat that I must be punished.

Yes, I must be...

Author's Note

Feel free to criticize... posting after a long time...

Reviews

[barleygirl]

This is an excellent story on so many levels! First & foremost, you tell this story with crisp honesty. I love it when a main character, especially a narrator like in this story, can take an honest look at what's gone down. I love the slowly unfolding pace of how this mess gets revealed, nicely playful while also being badass. I love how you use snappy modern idioms to fit each part of this reveal . . . except I must make a couple suggestions . . . "he is gone for his own good" (usually we say "gone for good" & I'm not sure if your way of changing this idiom makes sense?!?!) . . . and "for him to bail out on me" (usually we say "for him to bail" -- different than to bail out). Other than those two little bumps, I felt this read smoothly & logically to the unexpected conclusion (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Zephyr]

Thank you so much for the warm words, Margie:)
Really glad to hear your review. And thanks for pointing out the real usage of the idioms. Until you suggested, I wasn't even aware of the fact that the usage could have been wrong. Will keep it in mind the next time I write.

[Anjali]

A writer is an artist who paints the most painful story into a wonderful read. Thank you for writing and sharing this wonderful piece.

[Jags]

I really love the way the story leads with all the curiosity and the fact that your story has an unexpected conclusion...great work!

[Zephyr]

Thank you so much:)

[Abhishek Asthana]

You are being a versatile writer who may surprise the audience by bringing a masterpiece at any odd day and surprisingly this write have fallen into a category of my most favourites...

I read it thrice and even fourth time, i really do not mind... its a privilege to review this tale as it comes from a young talent after a long time...

It's an art to turn a painful story into a most splendid one and here you did it... Putting strong emotions in fewer parts worked extraordinarily here... Impressed that you driven this tale so amazingly... For me title/topic of this kind, is quite harder to build interest of a reader but you have done it with so ease.... Being artistic is must for a writer... CLAP CLAP CLAP !!

[Zephyr]

Thank you so much! I am really gald to read those words. And happy you enjoyed it:)

[Ted Kniffen]

This is a great rendition of a horrifying event and a damn fine tale of the results of drunkenness and the effects of the incident. I could feel the pain and the loss of memory comes across quite well.

I will point out two small things...
"I find that my right upper hand" would be better as 'right upper arm' and the use of 'scars' to describe the marks on both bodies should be 'wounds' since a scar is the result of a wound that has healed.

Other than that...a good write, Neetha.

[Zephyr]

Hey Ted!
thank you so much for the review, And the points you suggested, duly noted. I never knew that scars were healed wounds though. Thats sth new for me. I am really glad to read your review as I am writing after so long a time...

[wordman]

sometimes you just gotta smack some sense into them

[Zephyr]

😅😅
Yes...

[wordman]

good for you

[Richard Charles]

Solid writing for the most part. I echo Ted's 2 comments. Really nice flow and tension building. You did a lot in a small amount of words. Bravo!

[Zephyr]

Thank you so much. Glad to read your words.:)