Stained

When it gets too quiet,

I can hear the refrigerator roaring,

The icemaker tumbling with blocks of ice,

Staring at the small tv mounted on the wall,

i patiently wait for another body to enter the door.

--

It's almost midnight. Mo checks her phone, no texts.

Shrouded in the dim light of the apartment, she sips on her modelo negro.

It's been 3 months since Virgil left. He moved to New York to publish his fiction story on Bruno, the missing musician. A small publisher saw potential in the time warping mystery set during countercultures' peak.

Left behind, Mo sits at the apartment, attempting to rewatch the childhood TV show, Avatar the Last Airbender, that her and Virgil used to watch on Saturday mornings after being hungover.

Mo had gotten used to "good night" and "I love you" texts from Virgil but those seemed to disappear after he left. It was a mutual agreement to break up in order to focus on their careers and passions, but it left stains on Mo's walls. The exposed brick wall no longer held portraits of Virgil or the genie who sprouted from the flower; instead, the exposed brick wall had tears dripping below, ashes cemented, discoloring the natural rock that lay beneath. As the rain washed over the greased bricks to the entry way, the rain seemed to flow into the apartment and punched its way into Mo's tears; Mo splatters the beer onto the walls, to make the art wash away.

Crossing over to the other side, Mo smokes six cigarettes and finishes a bottle of wine. Her head hovering over the sink as she spews the red liquid from her lips.

Abandonment, betrayal. She knows Virgil was doing what was best for him and their relationship. But the feeling, the familiar pain, of her own father leaving her as he crossed over, made it feel personal. Like a deep jab to her gut. More liquid sprawls over the sink with screams from her stomach desperately escaping.

Mo curls into a ball onto the floor. Underneath the sink, a cockroach trap remains from when Virgil and Mo lived together. The crumbs of stale bread, the pieces of glass shattered from a wine glass, the drips of beer, and Virgil's stray curly hairs lay with her. A deep, laboring pain in her chest; a never ceasing flow from her tear ducts — this was the first time Mo had experienced a heartbreak; yet the heartbreak felt familiar, almost like a confirmation of the loneliness that fermented inside of her from a young age.