UNTITLED: PART EIGHT

Alex had no clue what to feel, this was new territory for him. Sure, he had been dumped, binned off, ghosted and just plain rejected before. Ah, plain rejection. What a sweet, sweet feeling that would be. The clean cut of plain rejection. Lovely. This was rejection, but a different kind. It wasn’t plain. It was full of gross additions. And these weren’t additions that could be taken with a pinch of salt. These were additions Alex was allergic to. Nothing was plain. Nothing was simple. This rejection was full of shit.

The wind whistled and blew and caught the open window of Alex’s living room which slammed shut, scaring Alex half to death. “Fuck off”, he said, as the wind and the window caught his attention and he spun round to take a look at what had shuck him from his rather depressing daydream. It was only at the sound of the window closing that made him realise that day had now turned to night. A plain transition, light to dark. Nothing like Sarah’s decision to leave him for another man. No, cut that out, he told himself. Stop running in circles.

The clock was ticking and tocking and passing time when Alex realised that it was 7.35pm, he hadn’t eaten a bite. He was hungry, he was thirsty but he also had absolutely zero appetite for food. His mind wandered. What did he have appetite for?

There was nothing good in the fridge, he thought. Nothing like pasta or chocolate éclairs or leftover enchiladas, nothing that he really, truly wanted to eat. What did he have appetite for?

There was no cordial in the cupboard of fizzy pop in his room, so there was nothing he wanted to drink. What did he have appetite for?

Drink.

Drink.

Drink.

This word drink caught his wayward attention. He had prodded and probed at his thoughts, his brain, like it was a piñata until SMASH, it fell open when he dug out the word ‘drink’. And what was to fall out but ideas of getting pissed, getting fucked up. Ideas beyond his station, really. Alex wasn’t a drinker. He wasn’t an anything-er, really. But then that’s how all of this started, being a nothing-er. Plodding along in a job, doing nothing, trampling through life, doing fuck all. Waiting, wondering, daydreaming every day. Daydreaming his life, his relationship and his aspirations away. It’s as Sarah said:

“We’re sitting around, drinking gin and watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine reruns.”

Well, he wasn’t going to sit around anymore. Well, not tonight anyway. Alex had made his decisions. This Thursday night, he was going out on the town; Drink, kebab, taxi home, the lot. Fuck you Sarah, thought Alex. I can go out and I can be a normal, functioning young person with the best of them. Just you wait and see. Now, who else was out?

Fast forward 30 minutes and Alex soon realised he was alone in this plan to ruin his Friday morning because his only other friends, the friends he has that weren’t Bill, were working tomorrow. Like real adults. They were adults, with houses that hadn’t set fire, and hadn’t been given leave from work and weren’t totally fucked. Well, more fool them. He wasn’t going to let this stop his fun. Alex was going out alone. A night on the town, on his own. Let the good times roll.

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