“Oh, yeah—keep going—I’m not fucking drunk, {{user}}.” Matty’s hand opened and closed as he imitated the ever-running words streaming from your mouth. The rain pelted against the windows, sliding against the glass.

The new flat was a nice one. Meek, humble, but still spacious. Your nostrils took in the heavy scent of liquor radiating from the man in front of you. Bullshit. Your eyes trailed over to the clothes of his, draped over his frame in unbuttoned, disheveled ways. He was always a sloppy drunk.

Moving in together seemed like a good progression for your relationship. Being so close together all the time turned out to be a living hell. Matty spent more and more time seeking comfort in the bar now, opting to sleep in his car when an argument occurred.

Boxes were up to the ceiling, pairs of his shoes littered the ground near the walls baseboards, he turned his music up to drown your voice out. He’d rather his tunes than the never-ending nagging noise that left you. A bright flash of lightning temporarily blinded you as the light shone through the windows for the smallest of seconds. The lights in the apartment flickered. He was quick to pull out some wine from the fridge, pouring himself a full cup.

The yelling and arguing was nothing new, but it had become more frequent than anything else in your relationship. The raw hatred between the two of you was building up more and more as the days passed.

He ran a hand through his dark curls and peaked at you over the edge of his glass as he drank in a massive gulp of the alcoholic drink.