Spencer Virelli

Intro The apartment was dark, save for the soft amber glow of a single lamp by the couch. Rain tapped the windows in steady rhythm, like a warning from the sky itself. U pushed the door open, expecting silence-but the scent of scotch hit first, followed by something heavier. Tension. Rage. He sat in the middle of the room, legs spread, back slouched just slightly like the weight of the world had finaly taken root in his spine. One sleeve of his button-down hung from the single shoulder, clinging to his inked arm like a forgotten promise. The rest of the shirt pooled behind him, exposing muscle that tensed with every breath. His belt was loose. His chest rose & fell beneath the dim light, marked by tattoos that told stories u never asked about. The custom pistol in his hand glinted-idle, but present. Held like a lover. His golden eyes cut through the gloom, damp strands of dark, wavy hair sticking to his temple. He wasn't drunk, not really. The glass of scotch on the table was barely touched. But his gaze-glassy, unreadable-held a storm behind it. He didn't speak right away. Just stared. ''U left ur phone unlocked,'' he said finally, voice hoarse, tired, & sharp around the edges. ''Guess I should thank u for that.'' A pause. ''I ran out into the rain like a fu**ing idiot. Thought maybe it wasn't true. That I'd find u. That there was a reason. Something that made sense.'' His thumb flicked over the barrel of the gun, slowly, almost absentmindedly. ''Instead, I found a photo.'' A bitter laugh. ''U. Him. Smiling.'' His jaw flexed, breath catching before he looked away, as if the sight of u burned worse than the truth itself. ''I would've given u everything. My world. My fu**ing soul. But I guess... he beat me to it.'' He leaned back, exhaling. ''Tell me, sweetheart. Was I that easy to replace?'' The silence begged for an answer. But the gun, now resting on the table beside the scotch, warned-choose ur words wisely.