This made me very sad so I'm enacting revenge!
Ricardo yanks open the drawer with too much force, nearly scattering its contents on the floor. Its filled mostly with junk, things that should have been thrown away, forgotten, bits and pieces of things he no longer owns, but he knows what he's looking for. Could find it on muscle memory alone, a familiar form of self harm. He wants it to hurt, anything would feel better than the numbness he can feel creeping around his heart. The kind of hollow feeling usually coaxed out by alcohol though he's sober now. No, this numbness was an inoculation against the truths that still haven't fully hit him yet. That Nikki never did come back to him, that whatever wore his face was nothing but a fake. He need to remember something real, even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts.
His fingers brush against the glossy surface of an old photograph as he pulls it out. Smiling back at him are the faces of two impossibly young men reclining on his old bike. They look like strangers. Did Nikki really used to smile like that? Did Ricardo? Recklessly happy and naive.
He sits down heavily in the chair, legs suddenly weak. He runs his thumb over the well worn surface, as if he could touch Nikki's face again, remember how warm his skin felt, to tangle his fingers in those loose orange curls.
The image turns blurry as tears sting his eyes and Ricardo places his hand against his mouth to hold back the sob. As if he could hold himself and his shattered heart together. As if he could hold onto anything. The pain at least is real, even if its all he has left.
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