He shivered as the alcohol scorched down his throat comfortingly. He hadn’t realised just how much he had missed it. The tears refused to stop as he drained the bottle, cursing loudly. He threw the bottle, not looking at where he was throwing it. The glass made a nasty noise as it collided with the piano, denting the front and clattering down to the floor. As he lay there, alone and cold on the sofa, he realised that among the raging emotions, guilt kept poking through.
‘Melissa...’ he murmured pitifully. He gazed at his reflection in the TV, but the true horror of the state he was in was not something he could see. ‘I should go... see Melissa...’ He said to himself, the words slurred, though he couldn’t hear that. ‘Shower...’ He muttered. ‘Shower.’ He got up, struggling to control his own body. The shower didn’t really serve to wake him up, but he was clean and he managed to dress himself after a long struggle with the buttons on his shirt.
He decided to make coffee before seeing Melissa, to try and hide the stink of alcohol on his breath and to make him more alert. He picked up the packet of coffee and gazed blearily at it. He picked up a sharp knife and tried to cut it open, but he slipped and the blade sunk into his thumb instead of the packet. He dropped the knife and swore, watching the blood well up and spill from the gash in his thumb. With an irritated growl, he wiped the blood on his jeans and swore again, attacking the coffee packet again, successfully getting it open this time. As he waited for the coffee to brew, he looked around for sugar and milk, cursing some more as he discovered he had run out of both. With a sigh, he drank the hot liquid as it was, letting it burn his mouth and throat.
He chucked the mug noisily in the sink and did his best to ignore the sting in his thumb as he left. He didn’t realise it was still bleeding freely, dripping behind him as he knocked on Melissa’s door. Melissa moaned as her burns still seared with pain. She opened her eyes as someone knocked on the door.
‘Who's there?’ She cried, trying to be strong but the pain was too much.
‘S’me, Lazarus,’ He replied. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Fine.’ She growled, a part of her not wanting to say no. He battled against the door for a moment, before persuading it to open.
‘I’m sorry, Melissa. I’m a dick, I know, I just...’ He forgot what he was trying to say and trailed off, trying to see through the darkness that smothered her in the room. He walked over to her and sat beside her, on the floor.
‘You are.’ She hissed, turning her back to him. She winced at the pain in the dark, glad that he couldn’t see. Behind her, Lazarus’ face fell, his expression similar to that of a kicked puppy. His thumb was bleeding heavily now, the red liquid spilling down his wrist into his lap, but he still failed to notice, focused only on trying to redeem himself.
Melissa's eyes widened. She turned over again, picking up Lazarus' hand. The scent of his blood filled her nose, that sweet, copper smell.
‘You're bleeding.’ She snarled, licking the blood from his thumb, letting the warm blood slide down her throat. But she didn't bite him. Something within her held her back. Lazarus watched, not moving his hand from her grip.
‘Crap. Yeah. I was making coffee... or something...’ his voice dropped, embarrassed.
‘You poor thing,’ she growled, pushing herself against Lazarus as her eyes turned dark red from his blood.
‘I- I’m fine!’ He stuttered, pulling his hand away, shuffling back. Melissa stopped, running her tongue delicately over her lips.
‘Go!’ she snapped, hugging her knees to her chest. ‘I don’t want you to see me like this.’ She told him, breaking out of her trance. Lazarus looked at her dim silhouette on the pitiful bed, shocked. He scrambled to his feet and made a hasty exit, not shutting the door properly behind him.
‘Are you guys alright?’ Connor’s voice followed him to his door. Lazarus spun and saw the angel’s face swim into view. He tried to relax, but found himself more tense under the man’s eyes than under Melissa’s hungry ones.
‘Fine, fine. I just... had too much to drink, and she flipped. What are you doing?’ Lazarus’ voice was slightly higher than usual, stressed and unhappy.
‘What do you mean what am I doing?’ Connor arched an eyebrow in a beautiful mask of confusion.
‘Walking around at this time of the night?’ Lazarus elaborated.
‘It’s the middle of the day, Lazarus.’ Connor laughed, further putting Lazarus on edge. He looked out of the window at the end of the corridor and nodded.
‘Night shifts do that to you, sorry. I need to sleep.’ Lazarus let himself back into his apartment, apologising to Connor as he shut the door.
He stood in the middle of the living room, feeling as though the room was spinning, nausea and tiredness fighting for his attention.
‘I’m going mad!’ he muttered to himself. He found himself standing in front of the mirror, using the sink as support. He stared at his eyes, the wintery blue orbs gazing back at him, wild and frightened. Blood dribbled down into the sink, leisurely sliding down toward the drain.