I Guess I Never Should Have Loved You

Time was insignificant to Tony—the seconds, minutes, hours, and days all molded together in one entire blur. Somehow, Tony had managed to get his hands on more alcohol, receiving strange looks in the process. His appearance was filthy; his head was still crusted with blood, his hair was a greasy mess, his eyes were sunken in, and his once tan skin managed to become a ghastly grey. Tony’s bones were also beginning to show through his skin; he made time to get more drinks, but he never did make it to the grocery store. The only fuel in his system was hard liquor, and that wasn’t even fuel. If anything, it was making him worse.

Tony didn’t care about the ache in his stomach or the burning sensation in his throat. He simply did not care if he drank himself to death—that was what he was doing, anyway: drinking himself to death. Tony didn’t even realize how close he was to death; he could pass out from exhaustion, drunkenness, and weakness at any moment, and then everything would be over for him.

Tony pushed his thoughts aside, though, not really caring for himself at all. He stumbled aimlessly around his house, which had slowly evolved into a slice of Hell. Several light bulbs had gone out, leaving Tony to stagger around in the darkness. Not that he minded, anyway—his eyelids drooped down so low that the brightness or darkness of a room never really fazed him.

“I’m coming!” he slurred angrily at his front door after hearing a knock. The knocking on the door rang in his ears in a painfully shrill way, and he just wanted it to stop.

He sloppily made his way to the door, swinging it open in one fluid motion and slumping on the doorframe for support.

“May I help you?” he said, his words dragging out. Tony closed his eyes as the sun penetrated his retinas, so he didn’t even bother looking at who was at the door.

“Are you okay, man?” an unfamiliar voice asked, concern laced into his words. They sounded genuine, enough.

“What’s it to you?” Tony retorted rudely, wiping his face with his hand but keeping his eyes shut. The sun was beginning to burn his skin painfully.

“I’m your neighbor, and I saw that you haven’t gotten your mail in a few weeks, but I knew you were home. I’m just making sure you are alright, that’s all. I thought you were dead in there or something,” the voice said nervously, almost as if he was afraid of Tony. He chuckled nervously, glad to see that Tony was alive… well, as alive as Tony could possible be in his state.

“Oh, well, thanks, I guess,” Tony mumbled, finally opening his eyes to acknowledge the person he was talking to. Before him stood a short, tan man. He had shoulder-length brown hair, big, brown eyes, and a nose ring—the only distinguishable features Tony could make out at the moment.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Well, I thought you would know that since you were stalking me,” Tony said sourly. He didn’t intend to come out as rude, but he couldn’t help it. His heart had gotten up and walked away from him, leaving him with a cavity of bitterness.

The man standing before Tony fumbled around awkwardly, not really knowing how to respond to that. He knew better than to piss Tony off further—his body reeking of sweat and alcohol—and, honestly, he kind of regretted coming here.

“Tony,” Tony finally conceded, feeling a tad bad for snapping at the stranger. It’s funny, Tony thought. A random stranger cares about me, but not the girl who I thought I loved.

“Vic,” he replied. Normally, Vic would politely offer a handshake, but he figured that wouldn’t be the best of ideas in this case.

“Well, Vic, thanks for checking on me. It means a lot. Now if you excuse me…” Tony began, but his voice trailed off at the end as his eyesight began to blotch up. Tony stumbled around in the threshold of the door a little more than normal, shaking his head. “I, uh, I have to go,” Tony mumbled, slipping back into the darkness of his home and not bothering to check if his door had closed all of the way. He was too weak to slam it shut, anyway.

“Fuck,” Tony muttered, sinking down to the ground. The daylight had become too much for Tony, draining him of the small bit of energy that he did have. He slumped against the wall, resting his head back with his chin pointed to the ceiling. He took a few calming breaths, but they didn’t do much as his body continued to shake violently.

“I guess this is it,” Tony said to himself, referring to the way he felt. He felt himself slowly slip deeper and deeper into the hole that his own love had dug for him, making a clear path for the dark depths of Hell. Tony closed his eyes, preparing himself for death, despite knowing that it wouldn’t really come that easily…

~~

‘No more, Tris,’ Tony cried as he held her in his arms, holding on to her for dear life. ‘No more,’ he murmured, kissing her hair.

‘I’m so sorry, Tone. I didn’t mean to, I swear,’ she pleaded for him to believe her because, at this point in time, she was serious. She never intended to almost kill herself… she never intended to cut too deep.

‘I don’t think you need stitches,’ Tony said lowly, inspecting her wound. After applying pressure to it for the past thirty minutes, the bleeding had finally stopped, and now he carefully caressed her wrist, holding it tenderly.

‘I don’t think so, either,’ Tris agreed. She knew that Tony was right, but she also knew that she was very tired. Her eyelids felt like they were being weighed down by rocks.

‘Stay awake, baby,’ Tony cooed, holding her face in his free hand. Her eyes fluttered open and closed over and over again. She nodded positively, obeying his words. She didn’t want to let Tony down again. Tony kept his hand on the side of her face, and she tilted her head into his hand, savoring the way his warm hand felt on her cool skin.

‘I’m really sorry,’ she said again, this time with more meaning behind her words. She looked up at Tony fiercely, her eyes practically glowing with truth.

‘I know,’ Tony said. ‘I believe you,’ he said. ‘Just no more.’

“No more,” Tony mumbled to himself when he regained consciousness. “No more, Tony,” he said. He eyed bottles of alcohol on his counter, but shook his head, repeating once more: “No more.”

He stumbled up, carefully making his way to the counter where the remaining bottles were. He snatched up a few in his hands, and then he poured out the remainder of the toxic liquids into the sink. “No more…”

Partly happy with himself for throwing away all traces of alcohol, Tony made his way back his usual spot: the ground. He sunk down a wall, tucking his knees into his chest. He sighed, realization slamming into him abruptly.

He didn’t have drink his problems away. Tris was gone, but she wasn’t gone. With determination the only thing Tony felt, he furrowed his eyebrows and clenched his fists. He could find her; he truly believed that he could find her.

Tony was now on a mission. A mission to sober up. A mission to find Tris. A mission to find himself. And, lastly, a mission to find out why the girl he was so desperately in love with had such a problem with love itself.

Notes