it had been months.  — more closely to a year since there had been any new blood roaming the cortez. james stir-craziness had cross his limit. ms evers hadn’t been in sight for nearly half of it, so with that, james linens pile grew high, his drinks low, and his loneliness persisted. james was always a man of solitude, but he had always had options, yet there was nothing for him here. he had no choice in the matter, he was a prisoner to his own maze. he watched the amber colored liquid drain from the decanter fall against the glass, seeing the smudge that lingered against the crystal, he muttered under his breath. “unacceptable.’’ there would be a time, he would scatter this glass across his room, but even james knew he would be the one to clean his own mess up, and he grew tired of falling victim to his own messes. closing the empty decanter, he let cleared his throat, bringing the stained glass to his lips. his standards had lacked, yet he still had to live ( as much as the dead could ) he retired to his arm chair, crossing his legs, as his lips finally met with the strong yet bitter taste of his liquor, feeling the rush of the alcohol fill his cold body, a hum left his lips, his eyes shutting to the ungraceful sound of his hotel. he was truly alone, and he hated it.
