The week—all it was a few days, no more—was like hell on earth. It hadn’t been the FIRST separation the pair had suffered from, and the previous one was much worse, and it should have felt that way. However, knowing it was done on purpose peeled into his heart stronger than the six months of the unknown. Felix could have succumbed again to his weaknesses, drowned himself in a mixture of various drugs, but there was a thought somewhere at the back of his head that it could have ended in a similar way it already did. With a hospital, and another week.
Every five minutes felt like an hour with him not being able to distract himself with his regular dose, and one can drink only so much teas to get some sleep. Felix couldn’t say that he wasn’t somewhat ANGRY about all of it, his brain digging up an argument every few minutes why he was in the right this time; and any other time he would have STILL reached out first, unable to spend so much time alone. But now? He felt unwanted and left like an old pair of once favorite shoes. That didn’t exactly made him sad, but more bitter, deciding to suppress any healthy emotions with whatever he had in his power and pretend they didn’t exist.
It wasn’t until he reached out to the source Beatrix had mentioned before, and let the woman help him that he started slowly pulling himself together. It was clear that one time wasn’t enough, and slightly cleared up mind only helped him sleep better and made the mutation more manageable, but he had a LONG way to go.
The apartment? Trashed. WELL. Not so much trashed as a few things broken, a good analogy of what he hid inside, even though he DID try to pretend he was doing just fine, lest Beatrix decided to go back one day unexpectedly. As he laid there on his couch he realized it was far too big for him alone, even if two animals were sleeping nearby—it lacked a certain FEEL to it that his wife’s presence left; or perhaps he was just lonely. And every time those thoughts began flooding back again, he tried to remember what had been said in the hospital, remember her face and how she LOOKED at him to bubble some anger up. Sadness was an ugly feeling, making him feel vulnerable and bad, but anger was so much better to deal with. So he let it take over his heart, let his pride grow as much as the liquor coated his throat. What else was to do for a man who was LEFT instead of LEAVING? Just when he had finished his second glass of wine and cigarette smoke began to fill the living room, ashes dropping on the rather worn out coach he had made his place at, a very distinct sound of heels click caught his ears and before he knew a PAINFULLY familiar figure appeared before him. What a sight for sore eyes. No matter, he pushed himself to remain as he was, slowly moving as he knew some sort of talk was about to come.
“Now LOOK what the cat dragged in,” he spoke up, not bothering to even stand up. His first reaction might have been more snarky than necessary, clear mind making Felix coarser than a week ago—flashback to the days when they had just met. It was also his PRIDE that pulsed seeing her right there, a bright memory of their last meeting made him oh-not-so-friendly. One part of him knew he should have given her some credit—even though he didn’t know what exactly she was doing there, not yet, knowing Beatrix it must have taken a lot for her to show up, and that was enough for Felix to visibly swallow the bile down: put out the cigarette, get up on his feet and make a few steps towards his wife. “You’re late,” giving her a reproachful look, he made a pause that seemed to last forever, looking down once before locking hazel greens on her again, intense and analyzing.
“The food is already cold.”
