If someone would come to my house in the middle of the night, do you think I would answer the door? I know that I would not, and that brings us here. Why would I answer the door to someone like you when I don’t do it to anyone during the night. Night time in my house is when I am alone. It’s the only time that I am able to feel normal, and I will not have anyone ruin that for me. Much less someone like you.
There I said it, I don’t like your kind, even though I used to be one myself, maybe that’s why I hate you so much. I’ve always heard that you cannot truly hate something unless you’ve first tried it. I feel like that’s true. With that in mind, I will have to ask you to leave my house. If it’s something important then call me first thing tomorrow, but right now this place is off limits.
I close the door behind her and listen as she steps away from my door. I look through the peephole and see her standing still facing my door. She’s not sure of what’s she’s supposed to do, she doesn’t understand if I was serious or not.
I chuckle. She’s cute that one, a shame that she would have to be a reporter, if not I might have even let her through the door tonight. She goes to her car and I watch as she drives away, thinking that I wished things would be different than what they were.
I sit down on my couch and turn on the TV. A bottle of scotch in front of me on the table. I look at it instead of the reality show, I want it, I know I’m going to have a glass yet I always do this dance where I pretend like I’m going stop. Like I’m sitting here pretending that alcohol isn’t the greatest thing which God had ever put on this earth.
I fill a glass and empty it within seconds. The next one I put on the table next to the bottle, I was going to take my time with this one, enjoy it.
My throat was burning from the first glass, a good burn, the type you expected after taking a big glass of scotch. I leaned back and let the happiness it brought wash over me.
Categories: flash fiction