3:30 A.M

You up?

Twitching fingers typed along the screen, precariously unsteady balance swaying against the sticky wooden floor of the bar. A round of shots called, drunken hollers and claps on the back. Meaningless toast, clink of glasses, and tossing back scolding liquor, burning down throats. Coughs burning with the fire and scorch of the poison, a taunting reminder of addiction.

3:54 A.M

Where are you?

Alex stared at the phone screen, messages tauntingly left on delivered. Uncoordinated steps stumbled from the bar, feet haphazardly landing on the cool pavement of the sidewalk. His fingers faltered, eyes blurring as they tapped along the screen again.

3:56 A.M

I wanna see you

A much overused line. As alcohol intoxicated his system and weed clouded his mind, inhibitions foolishly disregarded, he was crawling back to your door. A lazily charming grin as he leaned in the doorway, slurring sweet nothings as he manipulated his way inside your home. Destructive, allowing him in without fail. Permitting him to corrupt every momentary cleanse you got of him.

His addiction was poison but yours was him — a far more toxically detrimental habit, unable to kick as he begged his way into your sheets, burning his essence into every crevice of your life. Engraving his scent of cologne and tobacco into your sheets, lingering his taste on your lips, marking blemishes into your skin. He was sin; you, the sinner.

4:02 A.M

Why no answer?

Really a pathetically poor attempt at guilt tripping, further persistent amongst your tenacious resistance and ignorance. His eyes stared blankly at the screen, messages sending through to be left for the uninterested gaze.

4:37 A.M

Text me so I know you’re ok

Temporary worry sparked in an inebriated mind. Normally you’d have caved, succumbing to his ruinous desires and unceremoniously welcoming into your space, where in the morning he’d either be sickly and miserable in your bathroom or vacant, disappearing to leave you sitting with the prospect of how meaningless every worthless wasted encounter was.

4:47 A.M

I’m outside

Gravity seemed to have forgotten him, steps betraying the weight of far too many drinks. His fist raised, incessantly rapping against the wood of your front door, head ducked and leant heavily on the frame to support his slipping weight. His knuckles continued punishing the door, waiting for the inevitable flick of the lock turning.