Lonely

The edge of the knife is cold against my skin, it's blade piercing through. My arm pulls back before the blade can pierce deeper. Within a moment, the blade returns for a second strike. This time I dodge before it can connect; going in for a quick jab to my attacker's stomach. The blow leaves him winded as he collapses to the ground, clutching his stomach in pain.

"Assholes. Attacking an unarmed man now, eh? If you're going to try something like this, at least do it properly." I kick the winded man for good measure before turning away, taking note of the others; all felled and groaning in pain. "Don't come after me again. I won't play nice next time."

With the remainder of my energy, I march away.

By the time I reach the last stretch toward my flat, the pain begins to kick in. The last of the adrenaline fading away.

I had barely reached the bar when they attacked me. I hadn't meant to get in a fight. I honestly don't even know why it started.

You probably said something yesterday while drunk.

I pause for a moment to check the damage.

They really did a number on me.

The cut on my bicep is neither deep nor severe yet the tears of blood keep shedding.

Aside from the knife wound on my arm, there are no other currently visible wounds. Yet I can feel where bruises are beginning to form. On my torso, back, and a rather painful one on my jaw. By tomorrow I would be several shades of blue and purple.

The winter night-time is freezing against my bare arms. For once I'm actually alert of the world around me, stumbling toward home. This time I can't account my stumbling for excessive alcohol consumption. Instead my aching body hinders my movement.

Yet that numbing pain brings the same temporary reprieve that alcohol always has. She doesn't appear in my thoughts.

After what seems like an eternity, I reach the flat's back door and with some effort, manage to unlock the door and walk inside.

I can't believe this is more difficult sober.

I find myself turning the light on-something I apparently haven't done in while-and looking around.

In spite of the dust gathering on the mostly untouched furniture, the place is in surprisingly good shape. Particularly considering the fact that I rarely come home sober.

The pain of the movements put me back on track, and I move to bandage up my wound.

As if sensing the completion of the task-with wounds freshly cleaned and bandaged-my phone rings. A familiar voice echoing from the other side. My elder brother.

"Damien. You alive?" I merely grunt in reply.

"That's good... Don't tell me you've been drinking again."

"No. For once I'm sober."

"Then why does your voice sounds so slurred."

I laugh at that, before wincing at the pain it brings me. "I got beaten up. Didn't even make it to the bar."

"You okay?"

"I'll be black and blue tomorrow. I'm fine otherwise."

"At least you didn't get time to drink. She would've lectured you on that."

His last comment stings, and my voice turns cold. "It doesn't matter. She's gone now."

"I didn't mean-"

"Leave it." With those words, I press end. And a deafening silence follows.

I can't help it. Every time she is even mentioned, there's a crushing emptiness to take her place.

Six months should be enough to at least fix yourself, right? So why can't I?

Yet the flat that was once ours. The ring hanging from my neck. They remind me why.

In the midst of the turmoil, I somehow fall asleep.

                                                      -                    -                    -

The dawn brings with it something new: No pounding headache. And an incredibly sore body.

Still in my clothes from last night, I drag myself off the couch. Unaware of the surprises the dawn is yet to bring me.

"Mew."

The usual silence of the flat is broken and I shake my head. Believing the noise to be a hallucination.

"Mew. Mew."

This time I can't convince myself of hearing things. So I proceed to search the room; with much effort.

Aha! My gaze falls on a little bundle moving beneath the laundry pile. In that moment, I realise he must have snuck in last night when I got home. As I move closer, the little bundle manages to stick his head out. His amber eyes meeting mine.

Who knew that someone so little could have the same look as I do.

That little bundle, who had ventured inside the laundry in search of warmth, looked as lonely as I did.

"Hey little one. Did you lose someone too?" The voice that comes out of my mouth seems so unfamiliar.

His big eyes blink at me for a moment, before he clambers out from the washing pile.

His escape complete, I notice something. He's small. Very small.

He must have been abandoned by his mother.

How could she have been so cruel? He is adorable. He looks to be about two months, and has unbelievably bright-ginger fur. Yet it is his big, hopeful eyes that catch my attention. Staring at me unblinkingly. As if asking me not to leave him too.

How could I say no to that?

I resign myself to the fact that I'd lost to him. "You can stay. I don't have any cat-food though. I'll buy you some later. Let's find you something else to eat."

He perks his ears up at the mention of food.

Soon I find myself filling an unused bowl with a can of tuna. And without hesitation, he digs in. Purring in delight as he feasted.

A knocking at the door interrupts my thoughts. I glance back at the kitten before moving to answer the irritable noise. My brother's face greets me.

"You're alive? That's good."

I sigh, letting him in. "To some extent."

"Look, about last night-"

"I said leave it."

He pauses before answering, "-okay."

That uncomfortable silence returns.

He had barely made it halfway across the lounge before noticing the kitten.

"Who is that?"

"A new member of the family."

"Seriously? These past few months you would shoot down my ideas of getting a pet. You were always so adamant against it. Why'd you let him stay?"

I gaze at the kitten for a moment, "His eyes seemed so lonely. I couldn't leave him there by himself."

The silence that comes this time doesn't feel as cold.

His meal finished, the kitten makes his way over to me. Looking rather pleased with himself, amber eyes shining brightly. With one swift movement I pick him up to hold him in my arms. As if in his response, his purr gets louder.

Breaking the kitten's gaze I look up, to see my brother staring at me.

His eyes hold no mockery. Instead he seems emotional but somehow happy.

I can't help but let my curiosity get the better of me. "What is it?"

His voice is thick when he speaks, "I saw something I haven't seen in a long time. Not since she passed away."

"What do you mean by that?" Yet even as I ask the question, I realise what he means.

I had finally found something to fix those broken pieces. And for the first time in months; I had smiled.