He was trying to drown himself in alcohol, hoping perhaps enough of it may just be fatal. Camilla had gone out somewhere, screw her anyways, he thought bitterly, bringing the opening of the bottle to his lips, taking a long, hefty, swig. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, but what else is there to get out of that kind of rundown brand.

At some point he became aware of a distant knocking sound, which he then realized was his own door. He groaned, his legs not wanting to move. Slamming the bottle down clumsily onto the coffee table beside him, a few drops spilling onto the table as he swung his legs over the edge of the couch.

His feet felt numb, almost fell forward just by taking a step forward.

It was by some miracle he'd made it to the door, the knocking becoming increasingly annoying. He undid the locks, pulling the door open to see who could be knocking at this god-forsaken hour.

Well, shit.

"What do you want?" He mumbled, leaning his body against the doorframe. His voice was slurred, face flushed pink, eyes bloodshot, and his hands were trembling slightly.