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She’s here.
And she looks shocked. What’s with that? What the fuck did she expect? For me to head to The Manor and fuck my way back to normality? “You’re too late, lady,” I mumble, feeling nothing but contempt for her. Because she did this. What she’s staring at now, she did it. So the fact that she’s looking so fucking stunned is a fucking insult.
“You’re drunk,” she says.
Yeah, I’m drunk. But not drunk on love anymore. I’m drunk on my faithful friend Vodka. Love obviously doesn’t suit me. Vodka, though? It feels good. She can’t touch me now. She can’t hurt me. Nothing she could say will sober me up and take me back to where I absolutely cannot be. “That’s very observant of you.” I raise my bottle and have another needed swig, being sure to maintain this emotionlessness. “Not drunk enough, though.” I pass her, going to the kitchen to source more medicine, since she’s taken herself off the menu.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“What’s it to you?” Don’t tell me she’s worried about me now? I grab another bottle and sling the empty in the sink. “Bastard.” I wince, trying to unscrew the cap, my hand hurting. A lot. Why the fuck does it hurt? It shouldn’t hurt. Nothing should fucking hurt. I fight my way through the pain and swig in a panic.
“Jesse,” she says softy. “Your hand needs looking at.”
My hand? She should see the state of my fucking heart. And on cue, it cracks a little more, pain radiating through me. What the fuck is this? “Look then,” I grate, showing her the mess. “Yet more damage you’ve caused.” She has the nerve to look insulted. Is she fucking blind? Didn’t see The Manor for what it was. Didn’t read all the signs. Doesn’t know how much I love her. “Yeah, you can stand there,” I snap, anger returning to join the pain, “stand there looking all bewildered... and... and... confused. I fucking told you. Didn’t I warn you?” I can’t breathe. Can’t see. Can’t bare this agony. “I... I warned you!”
She stares at me blankly. It’s another knife in my gut, twisting repeatedly. “Warned me about what?”
Unbelievable. And so fucking ignorant. “Fucking typical.”
“I didn’t know,” she says quietly, and I laugh.
“You didn’t know?” I hold up my bottle, and her eyes fall to it. “I said you would cause more damage if you left me, but you left anyway. Now look at the fucking state of me.” I manage to get my legs moving, and she backs up, wary.
“That’s it, run away. You’re a fucking prick tease, Ava. I can have you, then I can’t, then I can again. Make your fucking mind up!”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re an alcoholic?”
I back her up into a corner. “And give you another reason not to want me?” Wait.An alcoholic?“I’m not an alcoholic.”
“You need help,” she whispers, looking at me as I breathe down on her.
“I needed you,” I slur. “And... you... you left me.”
Her hands push into my bare chest, and I flinch at the warmth of her palms. I mustn’t take comfort in that. Not if she’s going to rob me of it again. So I move back and take more vodka. No one can take my vodka. “Sorry, am I invading your space?” I start laughing, sounding deranged, unhinged. I’m close. “It’s never bothered you before.”
“You weren’t drunk before,” she counters, looking at me with nothing but contempt.
“No, I wasn’t. I was too busy fucking you to think about having a drink.” I match her derision. “I was too busy fucking you to think aboutanything. And you loved it.” My dirty smile is natural. She’s hurting.Good. Welcome to the fucking club, baby.And an unreasonable urge in me wants to make her hurt more, because she’s here now, stamping all over my attempts to rid myself of my agony. “You were good. In fact, you were the best I’ve had. And I’ve had a lot.” My head snaps to the side with the power of her slap, and again, it fucking hurts. I breathe through the sting, laughing at the irony. Seems I’m not immune to her like I’d hoped. She has this power over me, the power to destroy me, and I realize in this moment that nothing can save me from my fate now. Not even my trusty vodka. “Fun, wasn’t it?”
“You’re one fucked-up sorry state.”
“Watch your mouth.” She just loves seeing me tortured.
“You don’t get to tell me what I can say. You don’t get to tell me how to do anything anymore.”
Anymore? Whenever did she fucking listen to me anyway? “I’m. A. Fucked-up. Sorry. State. And. It’s. All. Because. Of. You.”
She’s suddenly gone, and the second my drunken eyes register her absence, my heavy legs start to follow, dropping the bottle on my way. The damn stuff isn’t having the desired effect anymore.
By the time I make it upstairs, she’s got armfuls of clothes. She stops outside the walk-in wardrobe and studies me for a few moments while I frown. Then she’s moving again, going to the bathroom. I follow, coming to a stop by the vanity unit where I fucked her for the first time.
“Does this bring back memories, Ava?” I ask as she stuffs her toiletries into her bag, the memories of the first time I truly got my hands on her flooding my drunken mind, burning away the alcohol, making more room for more pain.She doesn’t answer, and instinct has me moving to the doorway, blocking her escape.
“You’re really going?” I ask, looking at her arms full of all her things that looked so perfect in my home. She’s taking it all.
“You think I would stay?” she asks, almost on a laugh. Yes, I think she would, if she’d only stop for a moment and acknowledge my grief. Accept that she can repair the mess that I am.
“So, that’s it?” I ask. “You’ve turned my life upside down, caused all this damage, and now you’re leaving without fixing it?”
