nano novel...progressing...

Clare looked over at him, Sven knew, from the kitchen table where she sat stirring the pitcher of some sort of tea. He could feel the weight of her stare from where he sat on the flowery comfy couch in what passed as their living room. That, and he could see her looking at him from the reflection on the shiny new whiskey bottle Mark had bought while he napped. As he swished the amber liquid within, he imagined that if he squinted he was pretty sure he could also see Jake, stationed at his high chair.

Instead of doing that, he opted to look across from him, towards where Mark chose to sit cross-legged on a clear spot of the shag carpeting. Mark’s eyes held shadows, much like the blue black of bruises, and Sven wondered how much sleep during the past few days the man had managed to get while sprawled out on his floor.

He supposed he hadn’t slept all that much. The glassy gaze he saw on that chubby face could not be unfallen tears, certainly not nearly a week now after. No, Sven thought firmly, Mark looked at him with expectation shining in his eyes. Mark must not want to be sober at all.

Come to think of it, neither did he. The sun shined nice and lovely outside on what green grass his apartment had by his front stoop, but he didn’t have eyes for it. Not after what had happened. Sven sighed and unscrewed the cap.

“Thanks Mark.” Sven said, and poured the liquid into the tiny shot glass on the table. He heard a heavy sounding pot bang loudly against the stove, and winced. He ducked his head low and glanced towards the kitchen. “That’s mighty nice of you.” He added as he looked back at his guest.

Clare was nowhere to be seen at the moment, and Jake was looking wide eyed at the portion of the kitchen he could not see from the vantage point of the couch.

“You’re welcome.” Mark said with a heavy sounding of breath. Sven judged his weak smile a might too watery, and watched Mark tip the glass back. When the emptied the shot glass returned to the low table, Sven made sure to refill it of its contents before screwed the cap back on the bottle.

“You not havin’ any?” Mark asked as he raised his glass to his lips with his lips twisted about in something of a grimace.

“Nope.” Sven replied, and set the Bottle to the ground between his feet.

Mark nodded unsteadily, and before he downed the second shot, he said. “To Jan.” His grimace wasn’t nearly as gut wretching to see, this time, but Sven swallowed back the knot he felt lodged in his throat anyway. Mark wobbled a bit more, then by his own power, laid back.

“Yeah. To Jan.”  Sven said, and as he stood up, he made sure to grab for the neck of the new bottle. He nudged Mark with the toe of his foot to make the man roll over to his side, and ambled from the room. He was fairly certain that if Mark lay that way, he would not choke on his own vomit should the man spew out the contents of his stomach from the overload of powerful spirits surely running through his veins..

He didn’t want to lose another friend if he could help it.

Claire didn’t look his way as he entered the tiny kitchen of their home. She leaned heavily on her hands, knuckled tight on the counter by the stove. He carefully placed the bottle at the top of the refrigerator, and turned his head to gaze at her risen shoulders. The play of tight muscles at her neck spoke loudly of her silent state of mind, and he knew well what her opinion would be. He hovered his hand over one shoulder, just about to sooth his girl of her worries, when he heard the distinctive whooshing sound of the front door being pulled open.

Sven darted his eyes first to the cooing Jake. The parent part of him somehow assuming it was the toddler that had somehow managed to open the door. His parental pride swelled often with the assurance that his son was a clever one, and indeed, opening a meer door was well within the mischievious ways of the boy’s talents.  The toddler sat at his high chair and returned his gaze, and Sven watched as, at the corner of his mouth, some drool dribbled down to drip wetly off his tiny chin. 

Sven then wondered if his son had somehow managed to open the door from the high chair. He knew his son was at talented one, but for him to manage such a feat at his age? Well, Sven, mused as the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, that would be simply fantastic.

His brain was a might slow to pick up the heavy shuffling of feet, but his eyes registered the bulk that made its way past the open threshold.

“Mark..?” Clare said with some alarm. “Where are you…”

Sven did know if Claire never finished that question, for he was in motion as soon as he heard her speak the man’s name. Before he knew it, he too was standing in the unwelcome and too bright sunlight.

“Gotta find her..” Mark slurred.

“Who?” Sven said, and took a firm hold of Mark’s rather plump forearm.

“Wadda mean who? The one who killed him, that’s who!” Mark said, and looked his way.  A few breaths later, his watery eyes wavered and he added a bit more firmly. “Lemme go.”

Sven swallowed, and chewed his lower lip. He knew he couldn’t let Mark wander about in the drunken state he was in. He didn’t want to lose another friend so soon, and in the state of drunkenness he judged this man had would surely mean something stupid would happen if the fellow wandered off on his own.

Sven frowned as he came to his decision, and looked over at Clare.

“Honey. I’ve gotta take  care of something.” He said. He thought his voice sounded rather grand and official like. He turned about, and released his hold on Mark’s arm. “I’ll be back later, ‘k?”