Annaleah

Annaleah (Rough Draft)

Through the balcony door, curtains, auburn hair and the scent of the lit cigarette between fingertips, blowing through the open balcony door.

Standing before me in black overcoat, black strap heels, and the luxury scarf we hunted last Christmas. The sound breaking on her tongue, and a tear falling from her eyelid. “What, happened the other night?”

“She came over, and we fucked.” Pointing his jaw in the direction of the kitchen island, “Right there, right on that kitchen counter.”

Tears swell beneath her eyes`

Once more he takes a drag from the cheap cigarette, holding in the inhale squeezing the words from his lips, “We fucked.” The large cloud of smoke on the exhale, “While you were out playing house with, your piece of shit ex-husband.”

Her rage tore a hole through the ceiling rattling the walls of the Seattle apartment. “Everything I fucking do for you.”

“You mean everything you do for yourself?”

The look of disgust on her face, Index aimed at an eye “Fuck you.”

Grabbing her things from the couch, “I stood by you when you had nothing. I dragged you out of the shit you were in remember when no one else would. You had no one, nothing, and I still picked you up while you sat there watching her, calling her name, running to her, chasing her for months. You, I helped you when no one else would and you fucked her to get back at me for staying the night.”

Watching her toss the keys on the counter. “You’re not going to break my heart again, never again. I’m done.”

Storming for the door, “Where are you going?”

“Back to New York, with or without you.” Slamming the apartment door behind her.

“Julie!”

“No, Tyler, no. I trusted you with every bit of my heart and you hurt me.”

“Julie..” The black heels stepped out the doorway into the night; the door slamming shut behind her.

Throwing the leather jacket at the door and grabbing the bottle of whiskey from under the kitchen island. Unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it from the waist of his pants walking out onto the balcony. Standing on the balcony with an empty glass, putting the cigarette between his lips as he pours himself a drink. Setting the bottle down on the table he takes a seat on the railing watching the sun set over the water.

Walking through the corridor to the elevator, passing by a couple laughing as they enter their apartment. Standing at the elevator doors, looking down. The look on her face changes from okay to a sulk, the broken smile at the elevator doors. The doors slide open, she looks around stepping in she turns to face the closing doors.

Slipping through the closing doors, storming up the corridor to the apartment door. Bursting through the door, standing in the middle of the room looking around, and spotting the silhouette in the curtain, she stares out at him seated beside the bottle on the balcony. Pushing the apartment door shut, the sound startling him, he looks over his shoulder seeing her standing in the middle of the kitchen area.

Standing there watching him put that bottle of Johnny walker to his head like an alcoholic . Looking down at the floor. Sighing, letting the bag fall from her shoulder to her palm, letting it hit the floor as she holds back her tears. ”Did… you ever love me?"

Staring at the city beside the sunset… the bite of his teeth, tensing of his jaw. “Since, the day I met you.” His eyes on the whiskey bottle… he repeats once more, “Since the fucking second I laid my eyes on you.”

“Then why are you letting me leave?"

“I can’t make you stay. Everyone leaves me, you're no different."

"So you're torturing me, so I’ll fight for you?”

"No. I want you to stay but I will not ask you to and I will not beg you.”

Dropping her bag on the table, "I'm not everyone else, but I'm not fighting for you if you're not going to fight for me. So, what do you want?"

Turning to her, “I want you to stay.” Getting up from the chair leaning against the bannister, she moves to the doorway, her eyes, the look on her face, disappointment, perhaps even disgust from watching him kill the bottle of whiskey.

Her words were tormenting, slow, painful laced with every emotion she’s ever hidden. “I, don’t know, who damaged you. And, I’m so sorry that they did, I am. But cleaning up their mess is not my responsibility. It isn’t my weight to bear, I love you but you need to get help. I’m going to bed, whenever you’re done drowning your sorrows you can join me. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“Stop!”

Continuing to the bedroom, “No. You need therapy.”

Standing on the balcony watching the sunset, taking a drink he looks down at the bottle. Running his finger down the seam of the bottle before pelting it over the balcony to the grass promenade across the street…

Leaving the balcony sliding the door shut behind him, and making his way to the bedroom.

Standing at his side of the bed, staring at the back of her head. “I’m sorry.”

Her tears soaking the pillow, “it’s okay.”