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one, two, three, and four
wilbur rubbed soothing motions over crossed forearms in hopes of regressing the ache – he'd just went out to a party his partner invited him to, they said it'd be for the better if he became closer friends with that of their own. he just forged an attitude of contentment and nodded along as the faceless, amorphous shadows spoke words he'd soon forget as he downed another too-large serving of bacardi 151. another hit, another swig, another worthless conversation. hit, swig, conversation. hit, swig – fuck
i think this time i'm dying
forgoing class, he brought the half empty bottle of bittersweet rum to his spit slickened, blood ridden lips. with a worried bottom lip littered in small bites as his sharp canines plunged relentlessly, he let the final drops of the alcohol treated water envelope his taste buds and settle in.
he let a longing sigh slip through thoughtless mumbles. the tense feeling of the night slowly lifting off of his stilled shoulders. liquid courage, he supposed.
i'm not melodramatic
his pulse finally slowed, the unstopping flow of the burning honey down his throat halted as it was cleared of every last trickle. he sat with his head tilted downwards and eyes closed to control the throbbing of his head.
cold fingertips pressing into his temple and massaging slowly allowed his body some time to relax before a hand sharp on his shoulder blade deemed him rigid.
movements stiff as antique machinery, he met eyes with his partner. a weary smile fell upon his features at the penetrating glare he received. words left unsaid but so very loud caused an abrupt change in his schedule; he stood on legs the equivalent to a roaring wave in a storm – his hand was soon held in a grip unwavering, he was being pulled somewhere he wasn't sure he had the mind to perceive.
i'm just pragmatic beyond any –
loud chattering and overdramatic moans coming from strangers grinding on each other with haste made wilbur acutely aware of what was happening. he tuned in to what his pounding skull could comprehend and became enlightened with the unfortunately common sighted truth – his partner was showing him off like a doll again. pointing out all of his flaws but also everything they deemed perfect about him – "he sings and that gets annoying, wish he'd stop, but he's really tall –" that was enough listening for today.
he turned to his partner and flashed a smile before whispering something probably beyond incoherent and slipping away.
– reasoning for thinking i've got fuckin' rabies or something
cracking open the door to the surprisingly vacant restroom, he heeded cautionary warnings that appeared in his mind and slipped into the cleanest looking stall.
sickness and the feeling of one's head being hammered into relentlessly left him relying on the shaky wall of the heavily graffitied enclosure. he swayed with the room, a large spiral of spray paint on the opposing wall not helping his battle to stay upright.
sliding down after a slip up causing him to lose his footing on the flat tile, he cupped his hands together behind his neck and tucked his head into his knees. barely there taps of his heel on the floor being the only thing keeping him from unloading his dinner from earlier that night and a 4th of a bottle of rum.
i think this time i'm dying
the bartender told him explicitly how dangerous a one hundred fifty-one proof alcohol was. he didn't listen. the idea of dying with a liquor bottle in his hand was the only thing stopping him from taking a fresh bottle.
deciding it'd be relatively worse to die in a sticky restroom stall was his only reason for his sloth-like movements – his eyes were lidded and he almost declared it perfectly sane to decay in the pigsty of an area until eventually, he used enough force to get himself standing.
unlocking the dainty seal with a strength he didn't think he honed in that moment, he tripped to the exit.
i think this time i'm dying
the fluorescent purple of the club, the overplayed hype music blaring, and his partner dancing sensually with another person was enough to send him keeling over and letting the intoxin take him whole and leave nothing – but he didn't.
if this were the first occurrence, maybe. maybe he would've allowed death to wring him in like a stab unbeknownst to him and his soon to be mutilated jugular. maybe he would've left them then if he were sober. but he wasn't.
he spared them a sidelong glance before leading himself along a path almost burned into his memory.
"a whiskey neat, please –" he held up two fingers, "– actually, two neat. thanks." the bartender nodded and he dug through his loaded front pocket and soon pulled out his wallet.
pulling out a quick quid from it, not caring how much it was, he placed it down and slid it towards the bartender as they returned. bringing the shot glass to his lips, he mumbled a "keep the change" before downing it.
i think i've lost my mind
the thought of digging the liquor grave deeper crossed his foggy mind, but it was instantaneously swiped away when he remembered his partner was there – this is all for them. you're here for them. don't let them down, they're expecting you to be on your best behaviour. if you died now you'd only ruin their chances of a stable future – when his brain felt too heavy with thoughts he washed them all away with the current of another shot.
with a final, pitiful, blurry eyed glance to his supposed to be tour guide (and lover. someone who cared deeply for him, more than anyone else), he pushed his cumbersome form off the barstool with a huff.
blurring the fact and the fictions
as he scrounged his back pocket for his phone, he pressed his way through partygoers dancing and cheering eagerly. maybe if he'd left it at a softer drink he'd be there, too.
the second his too bright phone screen blinked to life, he was opening the uber app and calling a driver to pick him up.
when the cold air of late night brighton hit his face like a rocket, he felt too sober and almost wanted to head back in – he immediately ushered the idea away, instead believing staring mindlessly at the blinding neon of the club's welcoming sign was the superior choice.
turning away absentmindedly, his clouded vision met the slightly quainter view of a nearby chemist shop's advertising.
noting the excessive amount of time his uber drivers in recent days have taken to appear, he fumbled to the store.
– while simultaneously fixing –
the blatant change of pace the tiny mart brought to wilbur's conscience could almost make him cry – it was so serene and downlow compared to the disaster that was his previous destination.
he looked up at the friendly "hello" a seemingly delighted cashier threw his way. he breathed for the first time that night.
– myself up with a girl named panadol
searching through the shelves of the shop's dedicated pain relief section, he found a bottle labeled something melded into his memory and snagged it for himself.
he smirked sorrowfully to himself. he knew the hangover he'd be gifted so graciously would put a damper on every single one of his plans for the upcoming week – he sighed and readied himself to be sing-song to the clerk.
"i hope your night's been spectacular, sir. what are you here for?" the worker all but chirped, wilbur couldn't help but feel important with how highly their words were addressing him – "lovely, it's been." he nods to himself, steadying his wavering voice.
sliding the packaged paracetamol toward the teller, he tapped a patient hand atop his sloped deltoid; he had an arm wrapped around his waist and his other reaching up and over to grip his shoulder.
the clerk – who he found out was named "delilah" after performing the tedious act of focusing his eyesight enough to read their name tag – offered him a peaceful upturn of their lips and scanned the pain reliever.
"six fifty-four is your total!" their kindness seemed fake with how much they were selling it – and this product.
swiping a twenty from his wallet, he encouraged delilah to pocket the change. to seal the unaccepted deal, he strolled out with faux mindfulness and waved while exiting.
bite the tablet, elixir –
as soon as his hair twisted in the whirring wind, he let his feigned demeanor drop with his buckling legs – sitting by the store's corner, he popped open the box containing his way to a more enjoyable night of drinking.
with little success, he opened the small bottle.
shuffling a few unpigmented pills into his dipped palm, he forced them down his dry throat. regret filled him as he tasted nothing but chemicals all the way down to his esophagus.
stifling the ever-growing bile, he capped the pill bottle with little resistance.
just as he pondered how it'd feel to fall asleep in the – at first glance – buoyant town he lived in, he heard a car halt to a stop and shuffled to grab his phone.
reading the affirmation declaring his driver's whereabouts, he hurried to get in.
disintegrate, mouth's a mixer
the ride to his flat's complex was a short one, though his mind's incessant rambling made it feel like forever.
exiting the vehicle was easy for him – being able to distract his two left feet by bidding goodbyes to his (thankfully) silent escort, and all. the difficult part was deciphering which door read one hundred forty-one and which read one hundred thirty-nine.
at some point, while still questioning if he was breaking into someone's loft, he keyed open his wooden door and couldn't be bothered to lock it as he rushed to his couch to lie horizontally; fucking finally.
breath evening out and eyes fighting to stay open caused a giddy feeling to spread across him. for months he's struggled to rest without some sleep aid forcing him; this was something new to him that he was willing to try again. – maybe not the almost drinking a lethal amount of rum, but the finding ways to numb his mind into a sense of safety so sleep tucked him in easily part.
as he drifted into a comfortably painful slumber, the twisting of a doorknob alerted his lulled body and he jolted upwards.
i think i've lost my mind
"why the fuck did you leave back there? you made me have to leave all of my friends to come and check on you – can't you take into consideration my feelings for once?" with a griped pinch in their lilt, his partner shoved their bag onto an under-decorated table by their entrance.
he gulped.
i think i've lost my mind
wilbur sped to the door in a frenzied haste, encasing their hand in his own softly. he chuckled to hide his uneasiness.
"welcome home, love! i.. am really sorry for leaving you back there, it was a dumb idea and i regret it even more seeing how sad you are. i –" his significant other's badgering snapped him out of his "tend and befriend" attitude. "sad? you really think i'm sad? you fucked up my night and expect an apology to have any sort of significance to me. i'm going to bed – don't follow me." with that, they jerked their hand out of wilbur's barely-there hold and stomped through their place.
at their exit, he slumped to the floor with a newfound emptiness accompanying what was, previously, melatonin melding lax through his bones. his muscles uncomfortably placated and his bones ground into piles of ash; it took his unstable palm a few takes, but eventually he was able to secure the tips of his fingers over the table he initially forgot he fell next to and eased himself to a standing position.
he took his open hand and ran a palm down the expanse of his face, hoping that the gesture would open his eyes enough to want to do anything after his happy state had been stomped out by his partner.
he kept his blurred gaze down, the tile in what he realized was now his bathroom twisting in ways he’d never deemed possible. even when he’s shitfaced. he crouched down and fell backwards with a thud – slowly lowering his upper body down until his back hit the tile. for a surprising first time this night, his body shook with the sobs he no longer could contain. he let his emotions rip through his ribs and tear out his heart. he allowed the endless tears to drown everything out and colour him done. he let himself lie on the floor for a minute longer before he reached blindly into his pocket and palmed out his phone. he knew his vision was too unstable to try and type something coherent, so he made do. holding onto the home button, he spoke, “when does the next tram come near me?”
if i could just break one more night
wilbur braced himself, using the scratched wood making up his stairwell’s wall, preparing himself both mentally and physically for the feat he was about to withhold.
he stepped minutely, each stair getting him closer – too close, too far. it was all too much. he walked up the final three and stood outside of his and his partner’s shared bedroom. with each and every movement, the floors felt as if they creaked louder and louder. now directly in front of the door, he twisted the metal handle and readied his posture.
maybe i could wake up and feel alright
this was it. this was the only thing holding him back in life. it’s all their fault, they’ve ruined him – tampered with wilbur so thoroughly that he was done. this was the only choice he saw now, and he saw it clearer now than he would’ve sober. he was saving himself for better or for worse. right?
my optimistically set alarm clock time –
but today was their birthday, that’s why everyone went out to party. that’s why them getting comfortable with other people was perfectly okay! they were celebrating another year.. oh god, wilbur ruined their birthday. he let himself get so intoxicated that the most important day in a person’s life, his person’s life, was forgotten? he was disgraceful, he thought. he doesn’t deserve them. tomorrow, wilbur should… he grabs his phone with plans to cancel plans with his friend in london – he’d be staying, he decided. wilbur’s phone blinked on and off as he stared at the dozens of unopened messages he’s received in the past few hours. blinking on and off. tinkering with his brain.
– serves only to mock me with flashing lights
wilbur clicked his phone off and tucked it inefficiently into his back pocket. he stared back to the sleeping form of his lover. the overwhelming, abhorrent dread that overcame him brought his pulse to a pause. he was certain his blood ran cold and that his veins grew bluer with how little oxygen he was taking in. he’d been trapped in a manipulative relationship with a partner who never loved him, for all it was worth. they abused him and slandered him nonstop. his pulse quickened and his heart felt crushed by a seething weight. wilbur turned on his heel, his previous blackout drunk self gone completely and taken over by anger.
as he barreled down the staircase, he grabbed his jacket off of the hanger and a duffle bag kept handy for emergencies and stalked out of his soon to be ex-partner’s loft.
i think i’ve made my choice
he was leaving to find anew. to find happiness without entrusting others to give it to him.
i’m a deceased playing victim
he strode down the street, half jogging. about eight minutes in, wilbur saw a cab and signalled it over. he’d have been dead shouldn’t the driver have pulled over.
slip the fate, slip the victory
early in their relationship, wilbur would’ve always encouraged them to let life take them where they belonged. he promised that he’d be somebody they’d feel safe around. truly ironic, it is, that their gumdrop sweet love fell sour, an offkey note in their love song making it all fall flat.
must’ve been destiny.
i think i’ve made my choice
his clock read a little after 3:20, the closest tram was almost thirty minutes away. he rubbed his palms over his jeans in a self-soothing manner. he brought a leg up on the seat and wrapped both arms around it in a hold meant to alleviate the built up stress of everything. it just dragged him down farther.
sink secluded in hatred
he felt how his phone vibrated in his back pocket, message after message coming in. they’re probably worried about him cancelling the move. he felt around until he heard a click and turned silent mode on.
void the plans friends are making
wilbur didn’t feel right. both physically - as a result of his drinking problem - and mentally. he wanted to leap out, full theatrics mode, and run home to his lover and hold them so tight. he wanted to kiss their forehead and promise them it was all okay. how dearly did he wish he could hold onto their hands and stare into eyes for once that held more emotion than tolerance bordering on disgust.
maybe he wished they’d promise for once. something that wasn’t empty.
i think i’ve found my voice
wilbur felt so much, like he could do just about anything and the repercussions wouldn’t hurt as much as this failure did. he was just elated that he finally spoke his truth – be it to himself – and admitted that this wasn’t okay.
if only he truly believed it.
i’m a leech sucking blood bags
all that his mind conjured up could do was burrow him deeper into the pit of self doubt and instability. with every blink of the turn signal and thud of a speed bump it drove him further to madness.
this was
defeat.
taste defeat, it’s a sandbag
he exited the taxi.
he waved goodbye.
this was goodbye, he waved goodbye.
not even panadol was enough to cure this ache.
saline solution.
saline solution - to all your, saline solution.
to all your, saline solution.
to all your
problems.