Tony woke up for the third time that same night with a splitting headache. Flustered, in pain, and more confused than ever, he stumbled off of his feet and looked around his trashed room. Shattered pieces of glass covered almost every square inch of his bedroom, making it nearly impossible to walk around. His bed was unmade, the covers tossed around and hanging loosely from the mattress. His walls were stained with alcohol and some parts even had holes in it—most likely from the impact of thrown bottles, Tony figured. He couldn’t remember throwing multiple bottles, though; he only remembered throwing one in unadulterated frustration.

I’ve lost myself, Tony thought hastily, pressing his palm to the side of his head in exasperation. He looked down on himself, noticing a few pieces of glass sticking on his body. Horrified, Tony carefully sat on the edge of his bed, inspecting his injuries. He had gotten so drunk that he had carelessly maneuvered amongst the mess of sharp pieces of glass, cutting himself up in the process. Tony couldn’t believe himself, but after further thinking, he could believe it—without Tris, nothing mattered. Without Tris, he was nothing. He simply did not care enough to be cautious around the debris of his anger. He couldn’t find an ounce of regret inside of him. Forget regret, forget any feeling; an enormous void overtook his insides, leaving him like a hollow shell.

Aha! Tony grinned to himself, finding a half-full bottle sitting in his bed. He picked it up, unscrewed the cap, and swished it into his mouth, gulping it down. He didn’t know what it was, but he liked the way it burned down his throat.

With a fresh layer of numbness, Tony finally mustered up the courage to pick the glass out of his skin. He barely even winced as he pulled them out one by one by one, throwing them on to the mess on the floor when he finished.

“Whatever,” he grumbled to himself, sliding off of his bed and carefully making his way to his door. In doing so, he spotted his reflection in a mirror, noticing the dried blood on the right side of his head. He shrugged his shoulders, acknowledging the fact that since it was dried, it probably wasn’t that serious.

Tony was somehow able to stumble down the stairs of his house, using the wall for support. He walked down his narrow hallway, leaning one shoulder on the wall as he walked, until he reached the kitchen.

Tony slapped his hand against the wall of the kitchen, and then he fumbled around for some light. It was bright at first, but the bright light meant nothing to him, nothing meant anything to him, anymore. He wasn’t exactly sure what brought him here—why didn’t he just stay in his room for the rest of the week, or even the rest of his life?

At this thought, Tony’s stomach growled angrily. He hasn’t eaten in a few days, allowing his body to barely live off of the liquor he consumed. Tony was sure that his liver was paying the price for his antics, but, frankly, he didn’t really care.

Tony staggered further into the kitchen, using the counter for support. He opened up the fridge, the increase in light making him cringe slightly, and looked to find something that looked appealing.

There was nothing. The fridge was mostly empty, except for a few half-drunken bottles of various types of alcohol. He looked carefully, only discovered a hedge of lettuce, a bottle of ketchup, and a half empty carton of eggs. He couldn’t remember the last time he went grocery shopping, and his fridge was fresh out of food. He reached for the eggs, seeing as they were his only option, and placed them roughly on the counter, slamming the fridge door shut, making the appliance shake.

Tony knew he was intoxicated, and he also knew that using the stovetop was a terrible idea given his mental state, but he was also too drunk and too numb to really care. If his house burnt down while he cooked, why would it matter? Nobody cared about him. If Tris really cared, she wouldn’t have left him.

Tony grimaced, picking up the carton and walking over to the stovetop. He slammed the carton harder than he intended, causing the Styrofoam to buckle and all six remaining eggs to spill and crack.

“Damn it!” Tony cursed loudly as he watched the yolks slip around his kitchen floor. Tears sprung from his eyes irrationally as he watched his only source of food soil. Hungry, frustrated, and an emotional wreck, Tony slumped onto the floor amongst the cracked open eggs. He buried his face into his swollen and coarse hands, silently sobbing. He didn’t really care about the eggs themselves. The sensation of food filling his stomach would not last like the feeling of what he truly needed. He was empty, but he didn’t care about the emptiness of his stomach. He cared about the emptiness of his soul.

‘Good morning, babe,’ Tony kissed Tris on her nose, which she scrunched up in response.

‘Hi, Tone,’ she giggled.

‘How are you today?’ Tony asked politely as he turned the stovetop on.

‘I’m good. How are you?’ she asked, smiling at him softly. Tony didn’t answer right away; instead, he admired her physical appearance. Even in the morning she was beautiful. Her green eyes stood out on her face, her pink lips curled up softly into a smile, her cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, and her lip ring glistened with the morning sun creeping through the windows. Her tousled maroon hair fell across her face messily, and, as if she knew that he was taking in her appearance, she brushed back her hair with her angelic fingertips. She looked down a little shyly, Tony realizing that he must have been staring at her for too long.

‘Sorry,’ he murmured, despite not being sorry at all. ‘I’m great,’ he said truthfully. Tony thought about how he rolled over in bed earlier that morning, nearly colliding with his Tris. He loved waking up to her. He loved having her face the first thing he saw every morning.

‘That’s good,’ she said, sitting down on the counter as Tony prepared a few eggs for them to share. He also micro waved some bacon and toasted some toast.

‘Are you hungry?’ Tony asked, filling the silence. Sometimes the silence was nice, but he really just wanted to hear her voice.

‘Very,’ she giggled, winking at him. The wink implied that she was hungry thanks to their prior physical exertion, and Tony couldn’t agree more. He bit his lip, staring at her again, the image of her being with him clouding his brain momentarily. No, not the image… the memory…

‘Me too,’ he grinned sheepishly at her before continuing to prepare breakfast, this time letting the silence over take them. He enjoyed listening to her breathing, and he could almost hear her heartbeat, too.

He turned around to look at her—he really could just look at her all day—but he didn’t say anything, noticing that she had her ‘thinking’ face on. The corners of her mouth dipped down into a slight frown, and her forehead creased as her eyebrows furrowed faintly.

He watched her as she stared into space; he allowed her to lose herself in thought. Her mystifying green eyes twirled as she thought… and Tony wondered what she was thinking about. He hoped that she wasn’t thinking about last night—he wanted her to look happy at the memory, not sad.

Tony’s eyes scanned her body for a moment until he saw something that made his breathing hitch. Her right hand was holding the end of a sharp, large knife, and her thumb was tracing the edge of it, almost subconsciously.

‘Tris,’ Tony spoke quietly not to scare her. ‘No,’ Tony closed his eyes lightly at the thought of her hurting herself with that knife. What was she thinking that made her toy around with it like that? He knew that she had a history with self-harm, but she had promised that those days were over. She was happy now, with him, right?

‘Sorry, Tony,’ she frowned, immediately putting her hands into her lap. ‘Bad habit,’ she lightly shrugged her shoulders, sending him a rather convincing and dazzling smile. Her lip ring flashed invitingly to him, and Tony leaned over and kissed the corner of her mouth lightly.

‘Come on, let’s eat,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her to the table where he had set up breakfast.

As they sat together at the table, Tony gazed at Tris, thinking to himself: 'I could get used to this.'

Tony’s sobs increased as his flashback dwindled to an end.

“I got… I got used to it…” he cried, his words muffled with his whimpers.

He looked around at his surroundings again, the uncooked eggs spilled on the floor, and, more importantly, the lack of life in the kitchen. That was what Tris was to him: Life. She filled this very kitchen with warmth, and her mere presence could calm Tony down. No matter how broken Tris could be on the inside, she always radiated happiness to Tony. But not anymore. Tris radiated nothing to him anymore, because she was no longer present. Tony had no idea where she had run away to, and he had no idea where to begin looking. He didn’t even know if he could get sober enough to even start looking.

“I got used to it,” Tony repeated to himself, sniffling. “I got used to it, and then you left me.”

Notes

Thanks to everyone who has commented, rated, and subscribed so far! :)
Sorry the chapters are kind of short, but for some reason I like them like that, for now! Maybe they'll get longer later, who knows.
Thanks again :)