We've run out of words, we've run out of time. We've run out of reasons, really why we together? We both know it's over, baby, bottom line. It's best we don't even talk at all, whoa.

It's over. The harsh words echoed through his mind. It was like a dagger to the heart that he couldn’t remove. How had it gone so wrong? How could they have ended up in this place? Deacen was a proud man. Too stubborn for his own good. Never taking no for an answer. Never will to compromise. Always right. The list of flaws floods his thoughts. If only he had done x, y, z… things wouldn’t have gotten this bad. The thought of sleeping on sister’s couch terrified him. It meant it was really over. Not ready to face that fact, Deacen sat on the barstool. That wobbly fucking barstool. The moment he thought it was level, it would move again. It took every ounce of him not to pick it up and smash it in to piece. With another exhale, his eyes focused on his glass...

Don't call me even if I should cross your mind. Hard enough, I don't need to hear your voice on my messages. Let's just call it quits, it's probably better so. If I'm not returning your calls, it's 'cause... Cause I'm not coming back, I’m closing the door...

Four. Five. Six. Seven. Deacen was moving closer and closer to the darkness. This much booze mixed with his unstable emotions was dangerous. Those bright eyes bounced between his phone and his drink. Closing those eyes shut, trying to focus. The world was getting twisted and fuzzy. Quickly he came to realize he’d walked out of his home, Her home, with nothing but the clothes on his back. Always having to be right…what an asshole. Fighting had become as common as breathing for them the last few months. Most of the time they both had been in the wrong. Harsh language, hateful statements, just about every piece of dirty laundry thrown out. Shaking his head, he downed number seven and moved to eight.

'Cause I'm not coming back I'm closing the door. I used to be tripping over missing you but I'm not anymore. I got the picture phone, baby, your picture's gone. Couldn't stand to see your smile, every time you dialed...

Chaos. That was the only word to describe the events that transpired next. Suddenly his drink was spilt, and his back was pressed against the bar. Another drunk patron, stumbling around. Making a couple ass out of himself. “Watch it, prick.” The words were slurred, thick was bourbon. The man had no idea the hell he was about to unleash within Deacen. Drunk, heartbroken, angry as hell. The man made some snide comment about Deacen. As quick as the words came out of the stranger’s mouth, Deacen was on his feet. That stupid fucking stool hitting the floor. Good riddance. Pressing his strong palms against the stranger’s chest, he’d shove him backward. ”You wanna go, bitch? Let’s fucking go outside.” With that, he’d throw a handful of cash on the bar top before storming out. Deacen needed to hit something. The rest of the night was a blur. The next time he opened his eyes he was in jail with a busted hand and eye. Shit.

'Cause it's over, girl, you know it's over this time. So when you call, I'm pressing 7. Don't wanna hear your messages, messages. I'm trying to erase you from my mind. 'Cause it's over, I swear it. Girl, it's over this time. So don't be calling, leaving messages, don't wanna know where ya been. Baby, 'cause it's over…