The China Cup by Irma Rerich

Oh, that sound of pouring alcohol…
There is no joyful and carefree expectation, not even echo of friend’s laughter or of the tipsy singing with a guitar. No, not for A. There is the sound of sewerage – the noise of the leaking life… or the rest of it.
The room and its filling are like a dark cave of a decadent writer: leaning towers of books, the omnipresent smell of tobacco, empty bottles, sticky glasses. And on the windowsill… There is the lonely china cup with the red lipstick print on it. Oh, this china cup is a reluctant witness of the three-days-transformation of the so-called love nest into a tear-filled gutter. Untouchable thing.
It`s 4:30 in the morning. Just a little while…and it is too early to wake up – too late to fall asleep.
A has a freaky habit: he writes everything by the hand first and then types. But this manuscript is special. No, even more than special – absolutely illegible, with nervous underlining; the piece of paper is covered with small craters from his fallen tears.
“Dear B,
it's 2 a.m. and I'm writing you to tell something important. Moreover, I`ve got something rather awful to tell you.
First, I believe that you forgive me, even believe that you miss me. The years passed. You know I`ve paid the price for it. You seem to have done well. I`m looking at your picture and seeing a very lucky man. Frankly speaking, I wanted to make peace with you. C wanted me to do it. Lately, she mentioned you a lot. I began to worry I`d lost her. She could get
back to you. You know I broke the entire set of china – your gift. I did it out jealousy.
She needed care, love expression, just little things…She`s got everything while she was with you. And then I came along, and stole your sweet C, your bride-to-be. Time passed and I didn`t get around to it. She was suddenly gone, being nobody`s wife. My brother, I`m sorry.
Come to visit C for the last time. It will be held at 12 am on Friday, St. Nicholas Church.
She sends her regard.
Sincerely your
A.”