“Could you have slept with her?”
My brows dip down to form a v. “I know I didn't,” I answer, confused as to why she's asking what I've told her already.
Shaking her head again, she looks directly at me, deep pain still radiating from those chocolate eyes. “I mean, you were drunk enough not to know what was going on. You were calling her Jaz . . . is it possible that youcouldhave done something if she or someone else had initiated something?”
I feel my face drop at the same time my stomach does. How many nights before I met her did I try to drown my feelings and problems, only to wake up with little to no memory of the previous day or two and someone in my bed?
“Could you?” she repeats.
“I don't know,” I answer quietly, the truth. Her eyes drift close as her chin drops to her chest. “But I was only that drunk because of the funeral and I didn't know how to handle it. I didn't have you with me. I don'twantanybody else, Jaz.”
Looking back up at me again, she abuses her lower lip some more, and my fingers twitch. Theyacheto cup her jaw and free her plump lip from her teeth.
“I believe you didn't sleep with her,” she finally says, her voice much softer now. I have this urge to drop to my knees and wrap my arms around her, gripping her tightly, and bury my face wherever it lands. I would stay plastered to her forever if I could. “But I do think you have a drinking problem, and as long as you do, the possibility that you'll one day wake up next to someone else will always be there.”
“What?” I ask, rearing back. “No, I was just going through a hard time–”
“No, Cam,” she interrupts. “It's not just then.”
I jerk my head to the side, not liking what she's insinuating and not wanting to face her.
“Have you been drinking tonight?” I feel the tension in my shoulders increasing as my defenses go up one by one. I see her nodding at my silence out of my peripheral, and then she continues, “And yet you still drove here.”
“I'm fine whenever I'm with you,” I grit out, ignoring the comment about driving here and resisting the urge to lash out because I'm feeling emotionally threatened.
“I think you have problems processing things and use alcohol, or me, as a crutch.” I swing my attention back to her. My jaw clenched tight. She seems to be going through a series of memories as she stares at me. No, looksthroughme. “The signs have always been there, but I ignored them, not wanting to believe them. I met you in a liquor store. The next time was after you were drinking and driving and crashed.” She shakes her head, a few more tears breaking free. “I can't ignore them anymore.”
She starts to turn away, and my air supply is cut off completely. With wild eyes, I reach for her arm, grasping for my breath. “Don't fucking leave me. You can't. I'lldrownwithout you. I'll–I'll do better, I promise. Please. I'm better when I'm with you.”
I scramble to find words, whatever will make her stay with me. I'll do better because she's fucking right, and I've always known it. I've always known I had a problem, but I stuffed it away somewhere deep because I didn't want to acknowledge it. That's one of the reasons I tried to warn her away.
Jaz slowly peels my fingers off her arm, now openly crying. “That's the thing, Cam. When you make someone else your buoy, the only thing that's keeping you afloat, there's only so long they can keep you both above water before you both start to drown. You've put all your weight on me, and I can't keep holding you up. I can't be the thing that keeps you from drowning.”
It feels like my fucking heart is being ripped out of my chest. She can't leave me. I shake my head back and forth. No, no, no. “Jaz,” I croak.
She sniffles and swipes at her face. “You've had people rooting for you. But you never rooted for yourself. You need help, Cam. Proper help.” Dropping my hand that she was still holding onto after peeling it off her arm, she sucks in a ragged breath and takes a step back. “I need to go.” Then she turns to walk away from me.
“No, don't go, Jaz.I need you.You said you loved me.” I reach for her again, feeling myself coming apart at the seams, but she whips around again, shaking her head in warning while holding a hand out in front of her stopping me. The other hand clutches her chest. It looks like she's struggling for breath, but she's still walking backward, shaking her head for me not to come any closer. “Please,” I whisper.
But it's no use.
She disappears inside, away from me.
I grip at my hair, what's left of my heart pounding out of control in my chest. “Fuck!”
Passersby glance in my direction, casting wary looks at the pathetic waste of space I am, standing here still looking to where she disappeared.
Releasing my hair, I turn and charge down the street. My eyes are burning, my muscles tense, chest heaving. I have no idea where I'm going or what I'm doing. I'm beyond restless, beyondsane.
I turn down an alley, slapping my palms against the brick wall and dropping my head between my shoulders, sucking in labored breaths.
I lost her. I've fuckinglosther.
Movement out of my peripheral catches my attention, and I slant my head to see an old guy sitting amongst some cardboard and newspaper, getting ready to drink something from a bottle wrapped in brown paper. I stalk over to him, toss a bundle of cash at him, and rip it from his hands.
“Hey!” he protests, but then shuts up when he looks at the amount of cash I gave him, tucking it into his clothes. “You could have gotten a lot more with this.”
I don't give a shit at this point. I tip the bottle to my lips and swallow down mouthful after mouthful, feeling it burn all the way down.
