Page 65 of Unhinged Omega

Exactly what I've always wanted.

So why the fuck does it feel so wrong?

I grunt in annoyance, reaching for the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. The amber liquid sloshes as I pour myself another glass, spilling a few drops onto the worn wood.

Doesn't matter.

This place has seen worse.

My eye drifts to the empty space on the couch beside me. The spot where that golden-haired menace used to sprawl, prattlingon about whatever inane bullshit was occupying his mind that day. Always talking. Always moving. A constant whirlwind of chaos and drama.

And now... nothing.

Just blessed fucking silence.

Haven't missed him since he moved out. Don't miss him now.

I knock back the whiskey, relishing the burn as it slides down my throat. This is what I wanted, isn't it? Peace and quiet. No more headaches. No more cleaning up after Raven's messes or bailing him out of whatever trouble he'd gotten himself into this time.

No more...

Fuck.

The TV drones on, the winner of the game show leaping around in excitement while music blares and confetti falls around him because he won a vacation to some island that's a mile underwater now. It's the kind of mindless entertainment I used to crave after a long day of dealing with Raven's bullshit.

Now it just feels hollow.

I catch myself straining to hear the sound of boots on the stairs, that familiar voice calling out some new ridiculous nickname. But there's nothing. Just the emptiness of my own thoughts echoing in this too-quiet room. And the distant sound of fucking.

I turn up the game show, the jazz theme song and cheering blasting loud enough to drown out the barely audible moans. But all of a sudden, that's unbearable, too.

And my eye fucking hurts.

Or where my eye used to be.

"Goddammit," I mutter, hauling myself to my feet.

I lumber into the bathroom, the floorboards creaking beneath my boots. The fluorescent light flickers to life, harsh and unforgiving as I stare at my reflection in the cracked mirror.

One eye stares back at me. The other...

With a grimace, I reach up and peel off the eye patch. The scarred flesh beneath is an angry red, irritated from where the patch has been rubbing against my cheekbone. I fish the small jar of ointment out of the medicine cabinet, dabbing it gingerly on the bottom edge of the empty socket.

I try not to look too closely at the ruin of my face. At the jagged scar tissue, the sunken hollow where my eye used to be.

Raven would have something to say about this. Some smartass comment about how I'm being "emo" or whatever the fuck. He'd probably try to bedazzle the damn eye patch or some shit. Stick rhinestones on it.

The thought brings a reluctant smile to my lips before I can stop it.

"You're losing it, Geo," I growl at my reflection.

But the words lack their usual bite. Instead, they just sound... tired. Worn down, like everything else in this godforsaken wasteland.

I slap the eye patch back on, harder than necessary. The sting is a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest that I refuse to acknowledge. I should probably let it breathe a little, but I don't feel like catching a glimpse of it when I'm not expecting it.

I'm already in a weird-ass mood tonight.

Back in the living room, I pour myself another drink. The level in the bottle is getting dangerously low. Might need to make a run soon, stock up on supplies.

---