I'll have part 3 soon enough.  There is no part I.  This is an updated version...

Aegri somnia

(A sick mans dreams)

Part II

            A long pregnant pause followed. He looked up over the bottle of Jack at the blank faces across from him, hoping to find some meaning in there vacant gazes. The place almost as run down as the poor bastards that shared its company.  The bar was made out of dark oak and was scratched and warped from years of squalor.  The stools cradled your bottom rather nicely, but your legs had an impeccable tendency to go numb after a few hours. They were comfortable, but not comfortable enough to allow the alkies to fall asleep on them.  Probably the only positive thing you could really say about it was that the glasses were clean. He stared at the bottle of Captain Morgan® next to him and realizing how smug the captain looked, he turned the bottle away since he was in no mood for company. 

            “My wife…” he muttered to an audience of one. She wasn’t his wife, never was, but with how long it had lasted she might as well have been. She still… He took another drink, feeling the apathy he yearned for flowing into his veins. “My God, what have I done?”
            He placed his hands onto his now swollen, burning eyes. Resting his forehead on the table, he gripped the back of his skull with his trembling hands as he felt another wave of pain flow through his body. He never knew when the pain was coming anymore.  He could be doing the most simple of tasks when a torrent of torment would sweep over him. It felt like a pickax was being driven into his all ready dark and shriveled heart. The pain was not what truly bothering him though. What truly overwhelmed him was the emptiness.  In the space that existed between the moments of agony, he could feel nothing. No joy, anger…nothing. It was like being asleep for years and waking up in hell.
            Did anyone understand the pain he was in?  

            No… not even her. She couldn’t…could she?
            For a moment, the image of her weeping flashed through his mind. She looked up at him with those beautiful brown eyes, now sick and empty, the expression on her face capable of shattering even the brightest day.
            His stomach wrenched as the pain welled up inside of him so strongly he nearly threw up. Tears burst forth from his already throbbing eyes, adding salt to an already gaping wound. He tried to cry out but the pain lodged itself in his throat. The bones in his wrists ached as a deep shudder of anguish tore through his body.
            “My God, what have I done?”

            With a pool of salty tears forming on the table, he continued to sit, his face in a caustic puddle; one hand on the bottle and the other gripping his aching stomach. He begged for contact; a kiss, an embrace… He would do anything to simply rest his hand on her face and wipe away her… 

“Shut up.” he whimpered to himself as he took another swig from the bottle, not even bothering to pour the tainted liquid into a glass. Every articulation in his body felt like it was fragmenting apart as he felt another wave sweep over him. “Kill me,” he selfishly pleaded, “please…kill me”

“What the hell have I done…?”

She said she would never regret the time they had spent together.  That she would cherish every moment they had spent together.  He did not share her sentiment.  He was beginning to loath it. The thought of her used to bring him so much joy but, now it caused him unbearable pain. Even though he wanted to be able to cherish those memories, he found he couldn’t.

He finished off the bottle of Jack and checked his wallet. Empty. He could have brought more money but limiting his cash prevented him from doing anything foolish. It was time to go home.