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“He’s just a friend. My roommate’s brother, to be exact.”
“Oh, only a friend, huh? I bet he just wants to sleep with you.”
“Not everyone is like you, Tyler,” Lo snaps, and it’s as if she stabbed me. Fucking ouch.
“That’s not what we were about, and you know it.” I’m no longer hungry or thirsty, and I no longer want to be sitting across from her. Fuck this. I slide out of the booth and stand.
I’m done being treated like we meant nothing. Clearly, she wants to move on. Begging isn’t a good look for anyone, and I certainly won’t be.
“I’m leaving town tomorrow, so don’t worry.” I lie again. “I won’t be around to bother you anymore. And be sure to let Mason know he has to hand his heart over to you before he’ll ever get a chance in those pants. And if he were to even think about having a chance, I’ll break his fucking fingers.”
Without a look back, I walk out of the cafe and away from the girl who just shattered my heart.
I never want to hear the name Chloe fucking Stott again.
* * *
Thank fuck no one is home when I arrive an hour later. I stopped at the liquor store, ignoring every voice inside me telling me not to drink. It doesn’t get me anywhere except asleep in the sand like the other day. Or in rehab like your father and brother. Or dead in the ground like your mother.
Fuck if I care. Might as well, since life just kicks your ass, anyway. Inside the guest room, I flick on Netflix, turning it loud and cracking open a bottle of Jack. The first swig burns like a fucking bitch. The second one, not so much.
Soon, the room gets fuzzy, and I forget just what pissed me off in the first place.
The next thing I know, a loud banging sound pierces my head, and when I try to open my eyes, there’s so much sun streaming in the window that I instantly shut them again.
Where am I? And what the fuck is that banging?
“Ty! If you don’t answer, I’ll kick this door down.”
The night comes crashing back. It’s morning already?
I don’t remember much besides drinking a lot of Jack Daniels, stumbling around my room, and passing out on the floor at some point. The rest is a blur.
“Ty!” Levi yells and bangs again.
Fuck, man.
“Dammit, Levi, I’m sleeping, dude. Can you stop the fucking banging?”
“Shit, Ty, it’s about time you answer. I thought you were dead in there,” he calls back through the door.
“It’s called sleeping.” I don’t move from my spot. If he thinks I’m letting him in, he’s got another thing coming.
“Your door is always shut. How am I supposed to know? I need to get going. You good?”
“Yeah,” I say. Go away now so I can sleep this off. I feel like a bus hit me from both directions.
I hear the front door shut at the same time as I lean over the side of the bed and puke into the trash. Thank God it was there, or it would’ve been all over the carpet, and then Levi really would’ve kicked my ass.
Dragging my ass to the attached bathroom—thank fuck it’s attached—
I lie with my cheek pressed on the cool tile floor. This is the worst I’ve felt from drinking.
Damn whiskey.
Shit will fucking kill ya.
The drinking helps at the time to feel better and forget your problems, but fuck, the hangover is worse than just being in your feels and not drinking.
