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“Right, this is an intervention. Get the hell out of bed and go take a shower. We’re going out,” Hunter states firmly.
“No,” I counter back.
“This isn’t optional, Dix. If you don’t get up from that bed, I’ll light it on fire.” To prove he’s not messing around, he reaches for the lighter off my dresser and flicks it on.
I watch the flame flicker, not liking the resolve behind Hunter’s eyes. “Fine, you win, you meddling asshole.”
I throw my pillow at him as I slowly get up. The room spins, and I need a second to find my footing. Once I think I’m able to walk in a straight line, I stand and ignore my unused, protesting muscles. As I shuffle past Hunter, he places his hand underneath his nose and gags.
“You fucking stink. Are you sure you’re alive?”
My response is to flip him off, but I don’t disagree with him because I’m debating whether I’m actually alive or not.
“Dude, how about you give your liver the night off?”
“Dude, how about you fuck off?” I counter, flagging down the bartender. I agreed to come out, but I never agreed to be a social butterfly.
My best friends are trying their hardest to cheer me up. Finch even got permission to go out on a Saturday night. But it’s not working. The more they try to pretend nothing is wrong, the worse I feel. I know they’re walking on eggshells as they’re afraid they’ll say the wrong thing.
“Dix, you need to pull your shit together,” Hunter bluntly says. It seems he’s finally given up on the pretense that everything is all right. I look over at Finch, who shrugs. It appears they’ve both given up.
“I’m fucking peachy, now lay off.” I ignore their concern and focus on getting my damn drink.
But Hunter won’t hear of it. “No, screw you, you stubborn asshole. I will not lay off. I’m worried about you. After Lily, you licked your wounds for like a day, and then you were out fucking your sorrows away. But this time around, I actually didn’t know what I’d find when I came to your apartment earlier tonight. Do you realize how fucking scary that is?”
I sigh as I run a hand over my full beard. The rare sign of concern behind Hunter’s eyes alerts me to the fact that I am being a right royal bastard to the two people who have always had my back. I understand they say you hurt the ones you love, but that doesn’t excuse my disrespect.
“Sorry,” I say, lowering my head. “I’m a fucking mess, all right? I thought that by now I would at least be able to think about Madison without wanting to kill myself. But it’s getting worse,” I confess, feeling like a complete pussy.
“That’s normal, Dix. You love her. Of course, you’re feeling this way,” Finch says kindly. “Maybe you could try calling her? She may have calmed down, and you may be able to save your relationship?”
I wish that were true, but I know Madison and I are over for good. “There’s no point. I know there is no redo in this situation. I just have to accept the fact that I’ve lost her for good.”
“How do you know that?” Hunter asks.
“I just do, man,” I counter, remembering the hurt and betrayal in her eyes when she said goodbye. “And besides, she’s better off without me. She was always too good for the likes of me. I won’t be a selfish bastard and drag her down because I miss her. The radio silence is for the best.”
“You remember what happened the last time you did what you thought was best for her?” Hunter rebukes, raising an eyebrow.
He’s right, but a part of me can’t handle the rejection. I know I’ve fucked things up beyond repair. But I stubbornly press, “We’re done, Hunt. I just have to accept it.”
He seems to want to say more but stops when Finch subtly shakes his head. The role of the social pariah sucks balls, so I toss back my scotch, hoping to become too intoxicated to notice the concerned stares of my friends.
We’re all sitting in reflective silence—me thinking of ways I can slip away undetected—when a busty brunette sidles up next to me. I ignore her because I have absolutely zero interest in making small talk. Sadly, she reads my aloofness as playing hard to get.
“Hi, I’m Brea. Want to buy me a drink?”
Her huge tits are pushed up to the high heavens, and the sight, which would usually leave me a slobbering fool, has me inching closer toward Hunter instead. “Buy your own damn drink,” I bark. Hunter’s and Brea’s mouths drop open while I calmly steal Hunter’s beer.
Brea is persistent, however, and doesn’t seem to want to take no for an answer. “How about you let me buy you a drink then?” she asks, smirking.
“I’m not thirsty,” I reply, mid-sip.
She looks at my beer, raising an eyebrow.
I can’t believe I am actually getting hit on, looking the way that I do.
“I promise I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.” She accents her sentence with a wink.
