The phone lights up.
He knocks over the bottle lying close by at his fingertips and the subsequent rattle breaks the silence of the night.
‘I hope you’re having a good week. I miss you, see you soon yeah?’
He switches off the phone and stretches for the bottle, hoping to salvage whatever that is left in it, and however little that is of it.
He then reaches for his cigarettes and lights a stick up, allowing smoke to fill up and float down his throat with a deep breath before puffing out a thin formless cloud from his lightly parted lips.
He loves her. He desires her. He needs her. Yet. he doesn’t know how to make her his. He doesn’t want to know why he can’t have
her, or why he can’t bring himself to make her his.
*music plays softly in the background: ‘and if you leave, my pain will go, but that’s no good to me, girl I love you, yes I love you so bad’
The next moment his eyes open, daylight has broken.