last chance

It's late at night. It's raining outside. The apartment is quiet. You've been sitting in the living room for hours, glancing at your phone. He hasn't answered your messages.

Finally, the key turns in the lock. The door slowly opens. He steps inside, the scent of alcohol lingering on him. His jacket hangs casually over one shoulder, his gaze weary.

Boy:

• Don't start... please.

He doesn't even look you in the eye, as if he already knows how this conversation will end.

You silently get up from the sofa.

• Where have you been?.. I called you twenty-seven times.

He sighs heavily.

— With friends.

• Again?

• Yes.

A tense silence hangs in the room. You don't know how many times you've heard these answers.

• You promised that this would not happen again.

He runs his hand through his hair nervously.

• I know…

"No, you don't! It's the same thing every time! You say you'll stop, and then you disappear again!"

He looks down.

— I'm tired of arguing...

You notice his hands are shaking slightly. He avoids looking at you.

— Have you been using again?

He remains silent for a long time.

— …

There is no answer.

This silence only makes it worse.