The blinds had been drawn in his bedroom for days. Shaking as tears streamed down from his eyes, a fast breath was taken into lungs as he sat up, slowly moving the sheets off himself and getting up for the first time. He stood, his legs idle as his red eyes stared down at the empty bed. He closed them and left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.
The city surrounded him no matter where he went, "It's almost like Chicago," ringing in his ears with every glance to the land around him. He almost didn't go for the bottle of whiskey or vodka on the island counter, the former being half finished, and clearly not enough in his eyes. It felt like rebellion every time it touched his lips.
He fell back onto the couch, staring across at the straight edge merchandise pillow that had been one of many in the house, just because it was that more amusing, especially when he found himself faced with the inability to not have everything that had to do with his ex.
The sound of the liquor splashing side to side in the bottle screamed through the deathly silent house. Every gulp more audible than the previous, his half open eyes rested on the phone at the end table, his foot kicking off several empty bottles as he attempted to kick it from where he had been laying. He remembered all the nights this week he had gotten drunk after waking up next to nothing but his own vomit and his own blood, and called his ex-husband's cell phone, with every unanswered call his fist was put through the wall.
"I'm so sorry, darlin'" he choked. The once half full bottle empty and crashing to the floor. He sat back up slowly with the help of vodka, his hands wiping at his eyes as he reached for the phone, guzzling down a good portion of the alcohol and picking the phone up, he tried to hold back from giving another message to the answering machine that was just himself crying and breaking down. It rang once, and the voice he was met with the operator telling him that the number had been out of service.
He stood up, walking back to the bedroom and leaving the glass bottle behind on the couch, unsure if it had tipped over on the couch and spilled. He shrugged it off with out care, he had the money for more, and he was slowly wasting every last dollar. Getting up the stairs proved to be hard, stumbling up them, collapsing on them, crashing into the adjacent wall and even tripping over a shirt, or whatever it was. The maid hadn't come since the divorce, and not a single person had been in the penthouse but him, the man even took the cats with him during the settlement, and his wallet was quickly being emptied by the liquor stores and by alimony... not that it mattered. Nothing was worth having.
Standing pressed against the full length windows with a reason. He sighed, his lover never really liked these, and would always comment on how it looked as if you could plummet down into the city if you pushed too hard on the glass. Suddenly he found himself pushing against it and stopped.
He took a deep breath as his shaky hands grabbed hold of the lighter that occupied the very back of his drawer. Everything that ended up being so taboo still felt like that way when a cigar was hardly held between pale lips, almost forgetting how to even make the lighter work.
Back down stairs he fixed himself another drink and headed outside into the cold and closer to his cityscape and debating on just how far down it was to the sidewalk. He watched the smoke drift from his lips and into the below freezing air...
Picturing a life with out his ex-husband made the tears swell back up in his eyes. Not having him there every morning, with his tattooed arms around him was tough. Nothing seemed worth it to the Texan. Existing with out that boy in his life wasn't worth it... and standing on top of that ledge, he would prove it...