There’s Alcohol in Mouthwash - Quiet Lights
You took the cushions off the couch and laid them next to the outlet. When I opened the door, I found you like that, your head inches away from that screen. The one that enables your obsession.
I remember wishing the chord would overheat and catch fire. I remember wishing
that I felt guilty. I remember stepping over you, and walking down
the hall and into the bathroom. Your clothes were scattered everywhere on the floor and the hand towels were in the sink. The lights were on in the closet, and drawers were left open. I remember restraining my fists from clenching too tightly. I remember the sting
when my nails broke the skin, just slightly.
But most of all, I remember the mouthwash on the bathroom counter. It had alcohol in it. The bottle could have been housing Curacao in its plastic gut for all I knew. The brush was still wet from earlier when I was getting ready. I had been asked out on a date and it just so happened I had been feeling like plastering pretend on my face. It had been nice enough to help me forget, but not nice enough to actually finish the job. My hand reached for the mouthwash instead of the toothpaste but I didn’t stop it. I took a healthy swig and started brushing. It wasn’t long before the alcohol dried out my gums and they started to bleed. But I didn’t
With each stroke I brushed away every sock, every drawer, every dish, every cushion, every snore ’til my rose-coloured teeth shown like nail polish in the mirror. I turned my iPod on almost full blast and jammed out to some T-Swift, not entirely just to spite you. You never woke up. Not until your phone started vibrating when she called you the next morning. By then the house was clean but you never noticed.