One Morning

I wake up to the sound of the alarm. After snoozing it three times, I manage to gain back my conscience. I feel like shit.

The room is dark. There’s no one sitting on the edge of the bed. There’s no more of that messy bed hair, looking up at the sky while giving me that sickening sweet greeting. “Good morning, Scott.”

But the room is dead silent.

Among the stink of sweat lingers a faint scent of vanilla. Hers. How I resent it.

Her toothbrush still stays beside mine. I open the window and throw it as far as I can. The scent of vanilla even thicker inside the cramped bathroom. The shelf used to have many bottles of liquids I don’t even know what they’re supposed to be. Now it’s just a half-empty shampoo, citrus-scented soap, and clear blue mouthwash.

I throw the used towel to the bed. And I stare at it like an idiot. Waiting for someone to scold me and throw the towel back to my face.

Then again, the room is silent. The towel doesn’t come flying.

Half naked I walk to the kitchen. Doesn’t matter if now is only 7 am. Within minutes I already empty 1/4th bottle of the tequila.

I throw myself to the couch. Stare at the empty TV screen. Chug the bottle in my hand. Stare again. Chug again. Repeat until the bottle is 3/4th empty.

And thinking about that one morning when she decided to leave me for the guy she barely knows.