OOM: Nights

[latino_menace]

Nights are the worst. He snorts to himself for being such a walking cliche about this, but they really are. No distractions and a silent house and nothing but time to wonder what they're doing. Is she touching him right now? What's the time difference - are they in bed as well? What are they talking about? Do his little quirks amuse her, does he try and make her laugh? His hand curls into a fist when he thinks about it and won't unclench.

It's summer and it's hot and he blames that for the reason he can't sleep. A convenient excuse but he makes himself believe it. After an hour or two though, he gives in, throws some clothes on and heads downstairs. The bar is the most logical place to go now, because at least there there are people. Maybe later. He sits in an armchair instead, and starts drinking. It's methodical, no hesitation or thought or care. Just glass after glass until the edge is gone and the questions dampened, melted into the anger that he lives with these days. What does it matter if she laughs at his jokes? And she's going to have to touch him, of course, to get pregnant. So what? Get over it. It's fine. He's coming back.

Over a week now. As he gets up to fetch another pack of cigarettes, Ramon tells himself to stop counting. Nothing good lies down that road. He'll drive himself crazy (and he knows it). For now, the only thing to do is wait.