‘Get out of my bed,’ she said, while he lay there, inert. ‘I said get the fuck out of my bed.’ She pushes him and he tumbles to the floor, landing with a sick thud that she feels in the pit of her stomach. For a while he just lies there, making her worry that she’d done some actual damage. As she reaches a hand towards him he slowly drags himself upright and looks at her, his eyes red and puffy. He’s been crying. After a time he sighs, walks into the hall and starts putting on his shoes.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.