Chapter 2
[Two Months Earlier]
As the seconds became minutes, and those minutes, hours, he began to feel more entitled to pick up the bottle again, especially after what had happened over the past year. He felt as if the only way to wash away the eternal pain, was to drown his sorrow in a bottle of alcohol.
It was yet another Monday morning, nothing special to this day other than it being the first day of the week. He shifted the sheets off of his body in one swift movement. He sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, only to then stand up and expose his almost "God-like" physique. He ran his hand up his jawline, brushing gently against his stubble. Generating a subtly scratching sound that resonated throughout the room. He turned around to face his bedside table, moved towards it, and picked up a photograph. It was of his wife and daughter. He sighed and gently placed the photo back down to where it was. He turned back to his bed and grabbed the corner of the sheets and pulled it to fit neatly under the pillows, hiding the seam, as he once did his. He stumbled - half awake - to the bathroom.
He looked at himself in the small mirror on the overhead cabinet door. "Why." he asked, repeating it over and over, each progressively more aggressive, with him finally stopping when his hand - in a fist - banged against the wall. He opened the little cabinet and took out an orange container. It was filled with white pills. He held the container lid between his thumb and index of his left hand, and the container itself with his right. He tipped the container over to expose only two of these capsules in his half exposed left palm. He held onto the pills as he gently put the lid back onto the container. He swallowed both pills. Leaving the bathroom in an echo of his gulp. He placed the container back in the cabinet, slowly closing the door, which produced a squeaky sound that filled the atmosphere. He picked up his tooth brush and tooth paste from the head of the sink, only to the squeeze a pea sized amount of tooth paste on his brush. The bathroom chimed of the bristles brushing against his teeth. He leaned forward, opened the tap, and drained the cold water from it to rinse his mouth out.
He proceeded to walk back to his room, a pin could be heard dropped. It was as if the whole world was on mute. He put his pristine white button up on, that he favored above them all, put his black trousers on, and connected the relationship between his shirt and pants with a belt, with a buckle almost as reflective as a mirror. He sat back down on the edge of his bed and reached for his shoes, which bared two, black socks. He slipped his shoes on, and moved briskly downstairs towards the kitchen.
He opened the fridge to be greeted by a sandwich that he had prepared for himself the previous evening. He took the cold plate out of the fridge and placed it on the spotless white countertop. He walked to the drawer only to pick out the most glossy knife and fork. He swiftly walked back to the table and sat down on his bar chair, shifted his weight forward and cut into the sandwich. The crisp of the lettuce was beyond satisfying; only to the place the piece in his mouth. Each time he chewed, the sound echoed and bounced against the wall of the house. Not long after, he had finished his sandwich and took the plate and cutlery to the sink to be washed. He made sure every speck of dirt was cleaned off, to restore it to its original pristine gloss. The items were cleaned to a standard above that that catering companies can achieve. He retrieved the cloth from the cupboard handle, and with two swift movements he had dried his hands, not a single drop of water to be found.
He placed the cloth back over the handle and continued to walk to the front door, where he always left his ring, wallet, watch and keys. He placed the ring on his finger, he did so with a sense of sorrow and loss. He shifted the emotion quickly by putting on his watch in a more professional manner. He picked up his keys and opened the front door, where he switched off the lights, as the switch was right next to the door. "Breathe" he half sighed, as he stepped out of the door. "Breathe" he whispered, now closing the door behind him.
To be continued...
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This has been Sebastian, and I am signing out!
Links to previous chapters:
Chapter 1 - Breathe
https://steemit.com/fiction/@sebastian-jacobs/psychological-thriller-or-breathe-chapter-one