@belsbabies
What day was it? Had he eaten anything today? He couldn’t remember. Was it late night or early morning? Tony had been sitting in the same spot—in his kitchen, in front of the large windowpane—looking out at the trees that hung right outside his apartment. They were nice trees, nothing extraordinary about them, but he stared and stared and stared as if they were the only thing in the world. Just him and the trees, nothing in between. This wasn’t brain fog, no. He wasn’t tired. Nor was he anxious. Tony had completely disassociated. He hadn’t been able to feel his arms, legs, hands, feet, fingers...anything. He wasn’t real, reality wasn’t real, nothing felt real. He was simply floating — slack jawed, medicated, and numb, with nothing to hold on to. How many days had he been like this for? At times he drifted in and out of a doze, but couldn’t remember when and for how long exactly. Sleep. Tony wanted sleep. A dreamless sleep. But it wasn’t going to come, he knew. A waking sort of death was what he was living. Everything was hazy in outline, thick and bleary. Tony’s brain garbled. He was too far past the point of being able to make sense of anything anymore. At first he wanted nothing more than the memory of Avie, her face, eyes, voice, the way she called him ‘my love’, to be inscribed into his veins and each crevice of his brain, playing on repeat forever. But now he wanted to be rid of it all. His insides were pulverized. Pain. All he felt was pain now. Everything fucking hurt. Tony couldn’t lift a fucking finger at this point.
He knew he should call her. Tony’s phone had been dead for days now. He remembered staring at a photo of her, beaming ear to ear, cheeks flushed bright pink, her hand unceremoniously gripped around a bottle of red wine, strands of her hair messily fallen around her face, until his screen went black. Tony remembered that night vividly (it was one of his most favorites) — the two had gotten wine drunk, and Avie danced her heart out to Fleetwood Mac, and then they had made love the entire night. He’d thrown it somewhere. Couldn’t remember where. Didn’t fucking care where. He wasn’t hungry but he knew his body needed food or it may not even make it to front door before collapsing.
What day was it?
Tony found his phone. He plugged it in. Waited fifteen minutes. He stared at the screen. Missed phone calls from Avie. Text messages from Avie. A lot of them. Fucking a lot. Missed calls and messages from Abraham. Fuck.
Fuck.
He was almost glad that his mind had been utterly disintegrated. It almost hurt a little less to do this. Tony almost couldn’t think of the consequences. Of what would or could come next. He tapped the call button.
He found himself praying to God.
