After receiving literally thousands of requests I've decided to post the other half of my fiction portfolio.
The man shuffled closer to the door – peering in the failing light – and stopped, uncertain of how to proceed. He supposed he ought to feel a sense of achievement, having finally found the home of his love. His face crumpled, fighting the urge to return to its usual sneer and re-formed in the image of a cruel smirk. The woman, his dear sweet Lisa, came to the window and looked out over his head to watch the retreating sunlight. Her lips parted and she gently exhaled, her breath misting the glass and obscuring his view of her. A pair of arms appeared from nowhere and draped themselves around her shoulders.
Turning to look up at her partner’s grinning face, the woman leaned back against him, content, her lids slowly closing. The man in the house looked down at the figure in the street, at his unremarkable clothes and even less remarkable face and frowned. The figure reminded him of someone, though he couldn’t recall who. He considered rousing the sighing woman in his arms, but thought better of it; it was unlikely anyone she knew. There was a reason they’d chosen such a sleepy city to hide in; a reason why she thought him paranoid. Or ‘Overly-Cautious’ as she had affectionately dubbed it.
The man on the street turned away from the door, clenching his fists and trying to hold back the tremors beginning to rock his body; such was his fury. The idea of another man holding her, touching her, loving her...it was almost too much to bear. This must be a form of impotence the man thought, and he found control in this realisation; the vibrations ceasing. He considered climbing the stairs to that wretched peeling door and kicking it in but thought better of it, he’d seen the man at the window and didn’t like his odds. Perhaps it was better to just leave her in her new life and take solace from the fact that she was happy, even if he was miserable.
The man slumped against the door causing it to click gently shut behind him. The wood was cool against his cheek and gave him back some lost clarity. The room was still spinning but he thought it possible to make it to the bathroom now. Collapsing to the floor he crawled in a lightly weaving pattern, head sagging, the carpet consuming the entirety of his vision. He gasped as the freezing cold of tile replaced the comforting warmth of the thick hotel carpet. Staggering to his feet and using the sink to support himself he stood upright and eyed his reflection blearily in the mirror. He stank of alcohol and felt the punishment in his gut; striving to make itself heard.
Several hours later he woke to find his head in the toilet, the seat smeared with sick, the smell making him gag. He stumbled to the bed in the centre of the tiny room and lowered himself onto it with all the grace of a dying swan. He curled into a ball on top of the covers and cried himself to sleep.
The man shuffled closer to the door, his migraine fading into insignificance. He eased himself onto the bottom step and waited for the sun to rise. He felt in his thickening stubble and found something wet, he put his fingers to his nostrils and then wrinkled them. Strangely, the man didn’t think anything of his filthy, dishevelled appearance, he wasn’t here to win her back, he had never had her in the first place. Noting the first lazy ray of sunlight creeping over the horizon he stood, gathering his courage. The stairs seemed steeper then they should’ve been and every step was an effort, the last almost bringing him to his knees. He leaned against the wall and caught his breath, staring up at the brass knocker, thinking it fitting that such an object should bring him back into her life. He took a hold of it and relished in the chill of metal against his burning skin before bringing it crashing down. After a while; the man couldn’t have said how long, the woman came to the door.
Lisa. His sister.