This was the first story I wrote that had received good reception from multiple people. I have since edited it and haven’t looked back at it since. It was originally wrote for my English Writing college class.
Roger sat there in his study, tapping the desk, waiting for Annabelle to answer her phone. Seconds pass before the answering machine begins its pre-recorded message. “I’m not near my phone right now please leave a message after the beep, thanks!” Roger sighed and began to leave his message. “Annabelle please call me back, I’m sorry. Please come back so we can talk about this. I promise I can change, just give me a chance. Please, call me back.” He put his head down on the desk as tears began to form in his eyes. After weeping for what seemed like an eternity to Roger, he lifted his head and began to read Annabelle’s note again. “Roger, I can’t stand to be around you anymore. You’ve become an alcoholic and I’m tired of the abuse. Every night you come home drunk and I’m forced to worry that you may hit me. There will be no more chances, I’m done. I’ll come back at the end of the month to pick up my things. Don’t try to find me. Goodbye forever, Annabelle.” The note fell from his hand as he rested his head against his arm. As he has done countless times before, he opened the side desk drawer, revealing its contents, alcohol. A bottle of whiskey, a bottle of vodka, and a small bottle of bourbon.
He reached for the bottle of bourbon and pulled it out. He began walking towards the kitchen with his bottle of bourbon in hand. Reaching into the cabinet he pulled out a small drinking glass and set it down on the counter. He opened the freezer door and picked up the same amount of ice cubes as he had done countless times before. He opened up his bottle of bourbon and started to poor. He picked up his drink and began to wonder through the house, remembering the good times he used to have with Annabelle. He took a drink and began to think about what good times did they have. He stood there, confused for some time trying to think of why there were no good times, they had been married for five years, so why couldn’t he think of any good times. He took another drink and began walking back to his study. He sat down and took the bag out of his pocket and emptied the contents onto the desk. He walked out of his office an hour later, swaying and tripping over himself with every step. He began stumbling through the house, knocking over pots and paintings that were in his path. He stopped in the hallway on his way to the bedroom and looked at the picture on the wall. It was a picture of him and Annabelle on their wedding day. Him, black hair brown eyes with a big smile on his face. Annabelle, red hair, blue eyes, and a smile that could match his. “I loved you.” He said to the painting. “I gave you everything. I married you, I loved you, and you told me you loved me. You lied to me.” He took the picture off the wall and continued walking to his bedroom with it. “I thought we were perfect for each other.” He reached the bedroom and stood in front of the large mirror he had up against the wall. His eyes were red and he looked like he had been told everyone he ever loved had died. He brought the picture to the front of his face and took another look. He spoke “I loved you” before throwing the picture against the mirror, shattering it into pieces. Some of the pieces flew back and scratched against his face, but he was unphased. He finished his drink and laid down in his bed, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
The sunlight was shining in through the curtains, directed into his face. He woke up and turned away from the light. He laid there for a few minutes before he began to feel sick. He got out of the bed and ran to the bathroom. He began to get sick before he reached the toilet, coating the floor of the bathroom in his vomit. He began hugging the toilet to keep him from falling over. Heaving over and over again into the toilet. He lifted his head from the toilet, with tears streaming down his face he wiped his mouth off with the sleeve of his shirt. He began to strip off all his clothes and step into the shower. The warm water against his face, washing away last night’s mistakes. He showered off and changed into a new set of clothes and began walking downstairs. He swallowed some headache relief pills and started drinking the coffee he had been brewing. He could barely see, his hangover had nearly blinded him, but he was used to it. This wasn’t the first time he had become incredibly drunk, it was almost a weekly occurrence. He would come home, drink and drink some more, become violent, fall asleep, and wake up hungover. Except when he would rush to the bathroom Anabelle had been prepared and was always already awake waiting for him, to hold him and stroke his back while he would vomit into the toilet. He tried not to think about the past, the harder he thought the more his head pounded.
He got up from the table and walked to the front door. He took a deep breath and walked out the door to his car. He started driving, going much faster than the speed limit but he didn’t care, all he wanted was to get there and bring his wife back home. All he had to get to Annabelle’s mothers house was his memory from when they went to visit her for Thanksgiving the year before. Annabelle had been begging him to let her visit her mother’s since Roger and Anabelle’s mother never really had a chance to talk since the only time they’ve ever met was at the wedding. Anabelle loved her mother. Her mother was her only living relative left and she knew that she wouldn’t live forever. So after countless begging he agreed they would visit. Her mother didn’t like Roger and he knew that which is why he didn’t want to visit. But she loved her daughter and wanted her to be happy.
He was driving through the woods, going over hills, and taking quick turns. He began to slow down, he was approaching a road sign. He was entering a town and didn’t want to be arrested since he was only a hundred miles away from Annabelle. He pulled into one of the bars that were littered around the town. He walked in through the door and took a seat at the bar. He drank and drank, trying to forget what he was doing and talk himself out of trying to take Annabelle back. He knew it was a longshot but he also knew she loved him and would realize she wanted to stay with him. He had one last drink and got back on the road. He had been driving for what seemed like days but it had only been a few hours. He checked the time, it was 1:34 P.M. He was in the bar for three hours, drinking the whole time. He thought that maybe she was right, maybe he did have a drinking problem, but he could change, he could change as soon as he got Annabelle back.
He was almost there, about a half hour away. He took out his phone and began to punch the numbers to her mother’s house in. One ring, two rings, three rings, and then an answer.
“Hello?” asked Annabelle over the phone.
“It’s me Annie” said Roger
“I told you not to call me” she replied
“I know but listen, please come back I nee…”
“No” she interrupted “I’ll be back at the end of the month to collect my things. Don’t call me again.”
The phone went silent. She hung up. If there was one thing Roger didn’t like, it was being interrupted. He pressed his foot against the pedal and began speeding up. He was now being fueled by anger, to get to his wife and bring her back to where she belonged, in his home. He arrived at her mother’s house. He collected himself and straightened himself up and began to walk towards the door. He knocked on the door and waited. No answer. He knocked harder and rang the doorbell multiple times.
“Hold on, I’m coming” yelled Annabelle from inside.
The door opened and there she was, Annabelle.
“Oh my god Roger what the hell are you doing here?” she asked
“Listen Annie, you need to come back with me, we can start over, I can…” Roger began
“No!” she interrupted “I’m not going back with you.”
“Listen!” he yelled and grabbed her arm “You’re coming home with me, right now!
He began to drag her out of the doorway.
“Let go!” she screamed in pain and slammed the door on his hand that was resting against the doorway.
He let go and yanked his hand back. One of his fingers was visibly broken and bent out of shape.
“This is what I get!” he began yelling “This is what I get for marrying you! This is what I get for giving you everything you’ve ever wanted! Fine! Leave me you fucking bitch! You know what, I don’t need you!” he kicked against the door.
“Leave! Or I will call the cops!’ yelled Annabelle from inside.
He collected himself and headed back to the car. He began driving home, defeated. There was nothing left that he could do. He couldn’t go back to her and he couldn’t risk losing her forever. He didn’t know what to do. He began to drift over the road. Suddenly a trucks horn blared alerting him and startling him. He gripped the wheel and tried to turn away but he turned too suddenly and the car flipped and when over the guardrail. He feel over two hundred feet to his death. No one could say that he died happy or lived a good life. He died alone with no one by his side.
Skyler Goldman's Writing Collection 