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The world spins, and my guts twist hard. I haven’t felt this hungover in years.
Light from outside streams in through the glass doors, and it’s way too fucking bright.
“Clara, I?—”
I’m hoarse as fuck, and I have to grip my head because it’s throbbing.
“Are you hungover?”
She steps closer, and I can just make out the sight of her lifting up the whiskey bottle that was lying on the floor.
“I…”
“Jesus, Luke. What happened?”
Clara comes to sit next to me, and the shift of the couch has my stomach roiling.
“Oof, please be careful.”
“Be careful?” I can hear the frustration in her voice, and it’s really my only cue because I can’t look up at her. “Look at you. Talk to me. Why did you get that drunk?”
“I’m sorry. I just…” You can’t; don’t say a damn thing. “Nightmare.”
The loud sound of her heavy sigh hits me hard, and I try to breathe around the nausea gripping my stomach.
“Another one.” Clara’s voice is even and quiet. “Luke, these really seem to be a problem.”
She’s not wrong. In fact, the nightmares are pretty much my biggest problem.
But what am I supposed to say? Sorry, they’re bad because I fucking killed a kid while fighting overseas, and I feel rightfully upset about it.
I’d just get referred to therapy again, and that shit doesn’t work.
It’s not like anyone gave me a damn instruction manual for how to handle all this. Hell, this is why I’ve only been casual fucking.
My gut tightens at the thought of just being fuck buddies with Clara—of her someday seeking all this out somewhere else.
I don’t fucking want that. I know I don’t, but Jesus, this is hard.
“Yeah. I know.”
Clara sighs again.
“You…I don’t think you can keep up with this.” She squints at me, furrowing her brow. “You look so tired, babe. And the drinking…”
Silence hangs as neither of us make eye contact or even try for it. We’re both way too uncomfortable for that right now.
“Just give me a few minutes. I’ll be good to go after I have some coffee.”
I move to stand, but the world swirls again.
“Dammit.”
Clara’s hand comes down on my shoulder, and it’s only then I can manage to look at her.
“Look, I need to go.” She pushes me back down to the couch. “But you don’t need to drive me. You can’t, not like this. And don’t go to work, either. We’ll talk when I get home, okay?”
There’s nothing else to do, so I just nod. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”
