Kadence

As we pull up to his house, it's quiet and even the sounds of nature are missing. Anthony is drooling on the window of my car, snoring into his own shoulder. Dragging him up the steps, I open the unlocked door to the smell of fermenting yeast and a myriad of other more dreadful smells. Even outside in the fresh air, it is hard to breathe. 

Anthony suddenly perks up, stumbling through the front door, "Honeyyy, I'm hooome." When he turns to me, his grin is twisted and sick, "Oh, that's right. It's empty." His hollow laughs echo as he stumbles through the trash and beer bottles scattering the floor. There are fields of empty and busted bottles of all kinds scattered around the counters and tables, covering every open surface capable of holding them. There's a dumped over trash can and stacks of empty one dollar pizza boxes thrown in a corner. Even as I try to make my way through the entry, there are bottles going up the stairs as if this were the site of a raging college party just last night and no one stayed behind to clean. The living room is the worst area, covered in old food and cups. It smells like a bathroom in there. I follow Anthony up the stairs, careful to keep him from coming back down. 

As he pulls the door open to a room on the right, he's humming to himself, tossing clothes around in the drawers all over the floor. It's as if there was a robbery and the whole room is ripped apart. The more I see, the more I can feel this unexplainable feeling. There's a ball of iron weighing down on my chest and in an odd way, it's my fault. I make my way to the left, avoiding the wild goose chase happening in his room and pass by a completely empty room. It's a dramatic difference from the rest of the house, the door shut and no lights in the fixtures. Seemingly unused for a very long time, I shut the door and leave it that way. 

The next door is also closed and as I pull it open, there is a completely different smell in this room. It's familiar like the smell of home would be. It wafts out, canceling any other smell in the house as I peek in to find the pristine room set up as if it were waiting. Once I realize who it smells like and why it smells familiar, I feel a strong force yanking me back until I hit the railing keeping me from falling down to the bottom floor as the wind is knocked from my lungs. The door is slammed shut and locked, leaving a ragged and furious Anthony in front of it.

"You will never open that door again. No one will ever go in there. If you do, you'll have to crawl out of this house." If I had any doubts before, I know now that Anthony does at least still feel something, and he's one messed up puppy.

"Understood." I stand up, walking well away from the door and the shattered boy in front of it. He's one to avoid. His dark gaze and solid stance give off a little wave of daring as if he wanted to be tested, but I turn my back and walk downstairs. I'm not a fool. I barely won the last fight. No way am I willingly entering that dance with him again. At the last stair, I turn around to find a completely different Anthony, bouncing from one stair to the next. At some point, he's removed his shirt and now has his belt unbuckled, shedding his pants before I turn away again to avoid all of the obstacles.

"Why are you undressing? I'm right here. Can you not be more modest?"

"I'm going to take a shower, see anything you like sailor?" The way he's now hanging on my shoulders makes my stomach churn and my skin crawl.

"Get your filthy hands off of me. You smell abhorrent." He’s like slime as he slides off of me, leaving a trail of booze sweat and body odor behind. An unclassy wink and several unsteady steps later I can see a much better view of him, an old deep scar across his chest, and the leftovers of vomit along his collar. He’s much smaller than he was before, although still quite athletic and strong, he appears to have missed some meals. Looking around, I’m sure they were substituted instead.

“Well, are you coming with me or you just going to stand and stare at me all day, big boy?”

“Go shower. Wake up. This pity party is over. This whole house looks like a disaster,” the sudden darkness in his eyes returns, “save for two rooms. When you get out, we can talk about what a sad sack of shit-”

“Don’t come in my house and tell me who I need to be and what I need to do. You can’t run my life. No one will. I don’t know what kind of sick hold you’re used to having on people, but you won’t find that with me.” It’s difficult to stay upright when he drops my shirt and I can feel my heels touch the floor again. He’s at least a foot taller than me, but I’m not accustomed to being treated like a rag doll.

When he turns back, he’s stalking towards the bathroom, the crunch of broken glass beneath his feet gritting my teeth as he leaves a bloody trail behind. Where do they make people like him? Where does he get such a strong will from? As I watch his firm backside disappear, there’s a shift in my mind. It’s something of a view, maybe an idea of some sorts, but taking care of Anthony could alleviate this heavy feeling I have. I could be the one to help him feel like everything’s back to normal again, then it’ll be like Dante never existed. It’ll be like I never killed him.