Energy Drinks, Late Nights, and City Lights

It's 10 pm on a Wednesday night and I haven't been home since Monday morning when my stepfather gave me a ride to the train station, leaving me there to wait for my train alone. Well, not technically alone - this train is rarely not full to the point of people sitting between the rows of seats, which means more than enough people were keeping me company. 

The girl I am supposed to share a hotel room with has been out since we finished with our training for today, the only sign that she belongs in this space being her messy luggage thrown under a chair with clothes lying around it. I rub my eyes trying to make sense of an Excel sheet with too much data for my liking and too many mistakes for anyone to consider it professional. The empty black can with green text reminds me that sleeping four hours a night is a terrible thing, and I yawn. 

My phone which I hate with every last bit of my being is plugged into the wall. Hopefully, it will be fully charged by the time I have to wake up (ah, yes, the price one has to pay for leaving a fast charger at home). I forgot to put it to charge when my partner ended our hours-long call before going to bed, stating: “I love you, but I have to wake up at 4 am. Good night.”

I yawn again. The text on my work laptop’s screen is blurry, and I doubt it has anything to do with its settings. Standing up, I reach for another can of Monster, throw my jacket over my shoulders, and with a keycard, I leave the room. 

I don't smoke. Never did, in fact. But I still leave the hotel the same way smokers do, sitting outside while shivers overtake my body, instead of smoking, though, I drink my sweet, green poison and wish I could just go back home.

Tomorrow morning, I will drink two cups of tea and eat a salad for breakfast to try and balance out the damage I am causing my body by drinking so many cans of energy drinks. But now, it doesn't matter. I am hundreds of kilometres away from the person I love, in a city I feel uncomfortable in, having to listen to stuff I already know. 

I yawn, swinging my legs in the air, as I watch my colleagues stumble back towards the hotel. They are drunk, most of them smoking, talking way too loudly over one another. We greet each other, my roommate leaning on a guy from the same town as her, and it takes everything in me not to cringe. 

One of my colleagues stays out with me. His hands are deep in the pockets of his jeans. “Are you not tired?”

“Not really,” I shrug, watching him sit next to me. He doesn't seem drunk. “You?” He just shakes his head, leaning back to look at the sky. “I can't wait to be home. I miss my bed.”

“I'm going to miss you.”

He doesn't meet my eyes, even after I say: “I mean, they were talking about doing a call party every Friday so we could-”

“That's not what I meant.”

He’s married. He has a wife, two children, and a mortgage for a house he shares with them. His phone lockscreen is a photo of his kids holding a puppy, smiling like crazy.

And yet, here he stands, looking at me like I am the Moon, not speaking at all yet saying everything he can.

And I just stand up, putting a hand on his shoulder as I move past him. The receptionist buzzes the door open for me and I walk inside, shooting Victor one last look. “You should call your wife.”