Close
The curtains are drawn and the faint blotches of light stain the floor. A small table has fallen on its side, a drawer hanging open with the contents nearly spilling out – a pack of Marlboro lights, some pieces of paper and bottles of pills. Beside it is a broken vase with water pooling around some wilting flowers. Various articles of clothing litter the space near the bed. The bathroom door is ajar and a faint orange light peeks out of the space. The shower can be heard.
David remains motionless. Lying on the bed, staring past the blue shirt carelessly draped on the bedside table, embracing the lamp. His lip is cut and there is a bruise along his cheekbones. He turns away from the light.
The sound of the shower stops and in the bathroom, Mark begins drying his hair. He looks at his reflection briefly and then looks out the door. It’s too dark to see David.
He bends over the sink – shoulders slack, eyes tired. Beside the sink, he notices the dustbin and the plastic orange bottles where unfamiliar words like ‘fluoxetine’ and ‘Sarafem’ are written.
His feet leave damp prints on the carpet as he walks to where his pants are. He picks it up and feels the pockets for his phone. His face is blank as he reads the message, still blank as he dials a number.
“Hello? Yeah, I’m on my way home. No, no I’m at David’s and I didn’t hear my phone. No, we didn’t drink. Ok. Love you too”
David sits up as Mark finishes the conversation. He looks over his shoulder and watches as Mark puts on the blue shirt.
“I’m tired”
“I’m sorry”
Mark looks at David’s back as he buttons his shirt. He runs his hand through his hair, not knowing what to say. He walks to where David is and leans down for a kiss. David begins to cry and his tears bleed on Mark’s cheeks. They pull apart and Mark rests his forehead on David’s.
“I’m sorry”
Mark wipes his cheeks. David’s lips are bleeding again. He looks away, eyes falling on the flowers and the table.
“I’m sorry too”
Mark stands and he studies the outline of David’s shoulder. The gentle curve of his neck and the scent that clings to it.
The door closes without a cry.
David takes a deep breath, wipes his face and stands up. He walks towards the window and draws the curtains close. He puts on his boxers and walks to the fallen table. He stands it up and winces as the drawer slips down, the items mutely hitting the floor.
Another mishap, a few more tears.
The pack of cigarettes has landed on the water, the pieces of paper are scattered and the fall uncaps one of the medicine bottles – pills littering the carpet.
Small dark spots appear on the carpet but David can’t see past the blur pooling on his eyes. He picks up the pieces of paper and places them in the drawer. He wipes his face as he kneels down, eyes drawn to the flowers and then the bottles and then the pills.
He smiles and picks up one pill, putting it inside his mouth, swallowing with ease. He picks up another and swallows that too. And then another.
And another.
And another.
Fictionalized Facts 