Tilt

Plink.

Plink.

Another bead of liquid swelling and drooping, pregnant in the early morning sunshine... and behind it, a tanned, square-jawed face, cold and smooth as marble.

Plink.

Each drop as precise and patient as a prayer.

He put the dropper back in the bottle, and put the bottle in his pocket.

The meticulously dosed carton of juice was placed back in its precise spot in the cupboard. Hearing movement behind him, he reached for the packet of coffee, and stood up, smooth as you like, as if making coffee were the only thing on his mind.

He ignored his flatmate just as thoroughly as he had these last several days. As if nothing had changed. As if his own fury had set his innards to ice, and he couldn't bear to look at the man, who was really more of a boy, really, let alone say Good morning to him, or move aside to let him make his own breakfast.

He really was boyish. From his short, scrawny frame, to his childish tastes. He'd never drink something like coffee, it had to be sweet juice or fizzy pop. White bread and pop tarts and anaemic chips covered in ketchup. And he wanted to be friends?

I'd sooner be dead.

The cumulative effect of the drops in his morning juice was becoming more obvious, if you knew what to look for. He pretended not to be looking for anything, pretended not to see that his pale and scrawny flatmate was even paler and scrawnier than usual. There were other clues. The slightest tremble, the briefest pause. Blinking too slowly.

I feel like whistling on my way to work, but I don't. I never know when he might be watching. I must give nothing away. Nothing.

Confident he'd found all the cameras, now, he'd obscured each one and shifted the furniture layout by degrees. The resulting confusion had warmed whatever shriveled thing beat behind his ribs.

If only we had stairs.

The sedative wasn’t dramatic. Just enough to cause a little fog. Something you could put down to a lack of Vitamin D, or mental health just beginning to falter.

The plan was to watch him unravel, and then to actually unravel him, like a ball of wool. Nerves. Veins. Ligaments.

Wondered how long he'll live for. Because he's going to be sorry. For as long as possible.

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Thank you for reading!