He sat with his legs crossed, staring towards the faded wall on the opposite side of the wall. The wallpaper was cracking and peeling, revealing the mouldy brick that lay beneath. The room was filled with a disgusting scent. The kind of scent that burned your eyes and made bile rise to the back of your throat. The ripped, faded sofa he was leaning against was damp from freezing air that filled the room, sending violent shivers throughout every bone in his body which caused his hand to shake as he brought the bottle of liquor to his lips and took another swig. The only sound that filled the room was the almost inaudible gulp as he swallowed, although the sound still echoed around the crumbling walls of the apartment causing even the cockroaches to scuttle back into their hiding places.

His phone rang where it sat on the splintered wood just next to him, vibrating against the surface, the sound resounding around the room. He continued to stare at the disintegrating wall, no longer caring about whatever whoever may be ringing would have to say. They would just try to convince him to come back home anyway. To stop acting like such a stupid idiot and get his life back together. He didn’t want or need to hear it. There was only one person he wanted to hear from, and he knew for a fact that that person wouldn’t be the one on the other end of the phone.

He looked down at his hands that were clasped together tightly in his lap. His parted them and held them out flat in front of him. All of a sudden he leapt off the floor and ran into the rotten bathroom, almost tripping in his desperate attempt to reach the sink as quickly as he could. He turned the stiff tap on, allowing the stale water to slowly begin running out of the tap and threw his hands under the stream before whatever was blocking the disused pipes had even fully cleared. He scrubbed at his hands roughly, rubbing the already dry skin raw until they were bright red. He continued even when his fingers were burning with pain. His hands were dirty, so dirty; caked in a thick crimson liquid that gathered under his nails like mud would after digging up a garden. No matter how hard he scrubbed, no matter what he did, he could never get his hands clean.

There was nothing he would ever be able to do. He was cursed to live with the punishment he had caused himself. Always reminded of his sins by the remains that would forever stain his pale skin.

Notes

Heya!

So, I've been writing this for a while now, seems as it's just an idea i've had for ages and decided to write finally! I'll warn you now, the chapters skip back and forth, so what's actually happening now will become clear eventually!

Thanks for Reading!!
xoxo