“Fuck my life.” I groan, feeling the worst I’ve felt in forever. A stark reminder of why I rarely drink, not like that, not like him.
Eventually, I pull myself together enough to close the toilet lid and flush, then slump down and hold my head in my hands.
I’m still fully clothed when I glance at the shower. Forcing myself to stand, I reach in and turn on the jets, then strip and walk under the spray.
Resting my forehead against the cool tiled wall, I take a few deep breaths.
After goodness knows how long, I finally reach for the shower gel and lather my body, my hands instantly stilling over the lump. I swear it feels bigger since my diagnosis, or could it just be that I now know exactly what it is?
I wash, going through the motions and then rinse off, grabbing a towel off the rack and patting myself dry before wrapping it around my waist.
Grabbingthe unopened toothbrush,I tear into thepacket and brush my teeth, trying to rid myself of the nasty aftertaste of bringing up last night’s alcohol.
Stepping back into the room, I find on the bedside table a steaming cup of coffee, a tall glass of water, and what appears to be some paracetamol.
I reach for them first and throw them back, chasing them down with the glass of water, hoping like hell it stays down.
I also see a pile of neatly folded clothes. I reach for the boxers first and then pull on a pair of grey joggers and a t-shirt. It’s only then that I reach for my phone.
Sighing, I turn it on, hating myself a little more in this moment for switching it off in the first place.
It vibrates immediately.
Missed calls, texts, and voicemails.
“I fucked up,” I say hoarsely.
Pressing voicemail, I bring my phone to my ear and listen to the first message.
“Noah, it’s me, where are you? We’re worried,”Jessica says, and I hear Caleb say something in the background, but I can’t work out his words, only his thick baritone.
I move on to the next one.
“I swear to God, Noah, call us. Jessica is worried,” Caleb says, angrily, but it’s impossible not to hear his own concern.
Sighing, I scroll through our group chat.
It’s the final one from Caleb that causes my breath to hitch.
Caleb: Elliot called and told us you were staying there. Whatever is going on, talk to us. Please.
A tap at the door has me looking up as Elliot pokes his head around the doorframe.
“Safe to come in?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah man, of course. And thanks again for last night.”
“No need to thank me.”
He comes in, sits on the ottoman, and nods towards the phone in my hand.
“Hope you don’t mind that I let them know you were here.”
I swallow down the ball of dread sitting deep in my gut.
“I never told them anything,” he assures me.
I breathe out a sigh of relief but squeeze my eyes closed, an onslaught of guilt swamping me and threatening to drown me.
