(no subject)
Dylan treaded up the stairs, the creaked with his weight and a messy haired, dirty child, no older then 7 stopped to stare at him. He ignored her; after all she was just a kid. The dark blue paint on the stair rails and building walls was chipped and dirty, just last week they busted the man on the 2nd floor for selling crack and whores. If only he had been around then.
He pushed open the door of the number 13 apartment. The door screeched loudly as it open. A smell of vomit, beer and weed filled his nose and in the center of the floor was a circular red stain, either from massive amounts of blood or red wine, he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know. The apartment was empty besides the little bit of furniture that came with the place. There was a two-setter couch in the pressed up against a paint chipped light blue wall, a small 19 inch TV sat in front of it, there was a small kitchenette with a fridge he had stalked himself, and oven a cabinet and a microwave a small hall bought him to a room with a dusty dresser and a broken sooty bed that smelled like unmentionable acts. His original idea was to wait until he had the money but in a weird, spontaneous mood, he borrowed money from his friend, probably his only friend, Bailey. He ran a hand through his curls sighing. He had just gotten here and already he found out that the sink leaked and the people above him we loud. Very loud. He flopped onto the small couch and flipping on the TV, he surfed through the channels.
“News…. Cartoons… news…reality waste…” He mutter labeling everything that flashed a crossed his screen. Lonely. That word described every night he had as of late. Every since he and Marco broke up, he had seemingly had no friends, like everything fell apart after Marco left. He hated that Marco, a kid who was younger then him, had that control over him, even after they split up. Mostly he hated that he still felt for Marco, he loved him and in his dreams, he imagined being with him for a very long time. For the rest of his life even. Dylan sighed fustrated he turned of the TV and looked around. He barely had anything in his house, he was even considering taking that Peter kids offer to give him a vase (yes, very girlie, its not like he had friends that would come over anyway, he stopped hanging out with the Hockey team. Hockey at college just wasnt the same as it used to be in highschool.) in trade for a 'hugs not drugs' shirt. How he felt the need to talk to the kid he doesnt know but he thought the kid was cool enough, then again, he was proud to get a job renting shoes out at the bowling alley.
He looked around. Nothing. He felt nothing here. He almost liked it that way but there was still a void. Some void he wasnt sure how to fill. It was missing friends, real friends, the one he used to have. As well as love... Not love, but Marco. Before he knew what he was doing he had stood from the couch and stumbled into the brightly lit, lenolium floored kichenette and pulled a beer from the fridge. He didnt remember putting it there, but he sure as hell was gonna remove it all of them. Fill the gap with the cold yellow liquid, the poision that slide down his throat.