I stopped in front of the door. I didn't want to, but something inside of me made me. I liked that door. I've always liked looking at it, even as a child. I was never allowed to go in, so I've spent hours looking at it, hoping someone would open it, and I'd be able to catch a glimpse of what's inside. I had always imagined there was magic hiding behind this beautiful door.
I know now, it's no magic. It never was, and never will be. I used to see magic everywhere, in everything. Now I can't even remember what it looked like.
Anyway, I was standing in front of the door. I couldn't resist the thought that maybe, that only maybe this time it would be different. So I slowly opened it, and I was thinking: 'You can still walk away.' To tell the truth, I couldn't. I was drawn in and as soon as I stepped into the room, it hit me in the face.
The smell.
A familiar smell, a smell I had smelled so often, too often - the smell of disappointment.
The smell had created its very own atmosphere, and as I walked further into the room, it came to welcome me. It wasn't a warm welcome, not a cold one either. It felt like it was trying to tell me something - No, it tried to gently push me out, as if it was saying: 'There's no point, just leave.'
I kept walking though, and with every step I took I could feel how the smell slowly entangled my ankles, and made its way up my legs to come and embrace my neck.
I don't know if I stopped because he starred right into my eyes, or because I suddenly had a thick lump in my throat.
Was this the snake-like smell trying to talk to me?
He was sitting in his big armchair. It kind of looked like they had become one. You could not tell what part was the furniture, and what part was him. The amount of time, he had spent sitting in that armchair - sorry sleeping, seemed to have unified them.
And there it was, right in front of him.
The glass.
There it was half full, half empty, depends on which side you are on.
We starred at each other, without speaking, without moving, nothing, until his eyes wandered down to the glass. He looked back up and right then every cell in my body was shouting: 'Don't do it! Please, don't!' But he had already wrapped his fingers around the glass and all that came out of my mouth was hot air.
I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I couldn't breathe. The snake had struck; it was no longer embracing me. It was choking me.
No words were exchanged this whole time. There was no need and place for sounds in this room; the conversation with had with our eyes spoke volumes:
'The glass or me.'
'I'm innocent.'
'The glass or me!'
'It controls me, there's nothing I can do.'
'Fight it!'
'I've lost this fight a long time ago.'
He put the glass to his lips, and the liquid disappeared. The smell whispered: 'I told you so.'
Tears were running down my cheeks. I don't think they were tears anymore.
He looked away.
Up until that moment, I had never imagined that one single person could make you feel so much hate. I felt this enormous hatred, and anger, and disappointment. Never would I have believed that he could break my heart into a thousand pieces and make me feel this much pain.
This was a person I looked up to. A person that had shown me so much support, that had given me so much love, and joy, and laughter and comfort.
The rage. I wanted to hit, and yell, and scream and run.
Nothing.
I just stood there with all the hatred and pain.
Yes, I knew the smell. And yes, I also knew the disappointment.
But this time was different.
This rage. My heart was beating at a pace it had never before, all my blood was rushing to my brain, and the air - there was no air.
I wanted to scream. To scream the loudest scream. To scream until my vocal cords break.
And I wanted to run. I wanted to run till it hurts. I wanted to run till I can't breathe. I wanted to run till I could be free. Free from all of this.
Maybe one day I will.
My body felt like a bomb had blown off. He was sitting there, sipping his drink and couldn't be bothered.
He was not the one who had once shown me all these wonderful sides of life. This person was someone else.
Drinking transforms him, and each time he drinks a little bit more of him disappears. It's like watching someone dancing with the devil.
And you know that one day he won't be coming back.