This is a short chapter from Seth's POV. Again, this is just a little rambling stroll through my head, so if this is out of character, I'm sorry, but for what its worth I hope you enjoy it.
At first I was only aware that it was dark. Dark and quiet. I felt like my brain was surfacing, rising up up up until it struck against the top of my skull – and then the throbbing started. It coursed through my with a dull and sickening force. I wanted to vomit, to sleep...I tried to open my eyes and realized that only one cooperated. I gingerly raised my hand to my face and touched my other eye. She sting of my fingers touching the open cut brought the events of the previous night back into focus.
I tried not to move. I knew this hangover well – being still was the best course of action for a few minutes. I paid attention to my breathing – deep breaths – and then I caught the smell. Her smell. When was the last time I had laid in a bed that smelled like her? Before she took the kids and left...
I remember coming in one night after a show. The bed was empty and unmade when I came into the bedroom, just like I knew it would be, but like always I was still surprised for some reason when I didn't see her. The left side—she always slept on the left side. I always preferred the left side, but the first night she stayed at my old apartment she fell asleep there, and for some reason I never said anything. I stood in the doorway and looked at the bed a moment longer. There was no sign of where she used to lay, no dent in the pillows, no curve in the mattress. I knew if I pressed my face into the sheets I wouldn't smell her— she hadn't been here for weeks anyway.
It was beautiful the day she left—hot and humid, with the sun beating down intensely. I remembered her face in the sunlight, glistening with sweat and tears. The muscles in her neck were tense and she was yelling at me, her voice breaking occasionally, her eyes wild. I remembered listening to her, but not what she said. I remembered thinking she was beautiful.
I don't know that I had never actually watched her cry before that day. I had seen it, of course, more than I should of, more than was healthy. Like the night she got drunk and watched When Harry Met Sally, letting the tears flow at the declarations of love. Like when I came home high and tried to change Drew's diaper, nearly dropping him in the process. Like the time she found me throwing up in the bathroom while Amber stood in the hallway crying. Like all the times she'd begged me to go to rehab.
But I had never really watched her while she cried. I cocked my head slightly as she stood in that sunlight, mesmerized by the red rings forming around her eyes, the contortions of her mouth. I wondered what her lips would feel like if he kissed her that moment, if they would suddenly become soft, the way they were in the morning when she woke before me and crawled on top of me in bed, or if they would be hard, they way they were when she was trying to talk to me and I was distracted, when she would roughly push my shoulders back against the couch and insert herself between me and my notebook and guitar, straddling my lap.
But that had been years ago. How many years now? Ten? No, that couldn't be right, could it? I slowly rolled onto my back, keeping my eyes closed for a moment while my body oriented itself to this new position. When I lifted my one working eyelid I saw her standing over me, lightly biting her lip, looking concerned and angry and hurt...all the emotions I had seen on mornings like this in the past. And like all those other times...she looked beautiful.
"Hey." My voice was cut and ragged and saw it's cracks register in her face. I started trying to sit up. My body felt thicker than normal, harder to control. She stepped toward me and helped pull me into a sitting position. When I was righted she stepped away and let me get my bearings. I closed my eyes for a moment and when I opened them she was sitting in front of me. She reached up to my face and dabbed my broken skin with a damp cotton ball.
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