Keh-tap! Keh-tap! Keh-tap! The sound hammered on his too-soft brain. He groaned and the tapping sound hesitated a second before continuing. He’d swear it was louder now. He got halfway to rolling over before catching himself on the edge of the sofa, perilously close to falling. Soft head. Sofa. Yeah, had too much again. Did he even go out this time? Didn’t matter.
The only thing that mattered was getting to the aspirin. Robin always put his stuff out on the kitchen table. He levered up and shambled to the kitchen, making old man sounds the whole way. Bless her, there they were: Rolaids, aspirin and a Coke. His remedy of choice.
The tapping continued in the living room as he waited for the goodies to do their stuff. The fact she typed while he was hungover and right next to the desk, that she didn’t even say good morning, confused him. It made his sore head hurt, so he ignored it all.
He stumbled up the stairs to the bathroom and took care of business, splashing water on his face after washing his hands. The soap made the cuts on his right hand sting. Cuts? The splashing helped. The aspirin was hitting his bloodstream, too. Yes, time for coffee. He shook the sting out of his hand as he went down the stairs. It was dreadfully quiet. No keh-tapping. Nothing. A note was propped up on the kitchen table, cliché though it was. She was never one for clichés. His stomach clenched when he picked it up.
A photo fell out. He gasped, turned it away, slowly turned it back. Robin’s pretty face, puffy and bruised. He looked between his scraped up knuckles and the photo of his battered lover. “No more,” the typed note read. “You went too far. Get help.” Not even her name, much less a “love, Robin.”
One of the bottles still held a couple fingers of bourbon. He downed them, deciding this earned him a drink or two.