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Drink. Drink. Drink.
Numb.
“Will you please just rant at me and have it over with?” Ava says from past the glass.
I can’t rant. Dare not. Every scrap of anger inside me is being reserved. I let the freezing water keep my mind clear before getting out and drying. She’s sitting by the sink. But I can’t look at her, so I leave the bathroom and go to our dressing room, pulling on some jeans and a T-shirt absentmindedly.
“Jesse?”
I pass her standing in the middle of the bedroom, her fingers twiddling, and go to brush my teeth. I can taste vodka now. Crave it. I look past me in the mirror and see her looking lost and uncertain. The emotions inside me are winning. I’m about to blurt out my whole horrid history, give her all of my sins, tell her why Van Der Haus is so hung up on me and Ava. It’ll be the end if I do that. She isn’t prepared or equipped to take it.
Drink.
She begs me to talk.
I can’t.
I wash my face, needing another shock of cold on my skin. A few deep breaths. A small shake of my head to try and keep the impending flashback at bay. My hands clench. I breathe in deeply.
She produces a bottle of vodka from her bag. Unscrews the cap. Takes a glug. My face remains impassive, but when she holds it out, I find some strength to take it and sit up. And I down half, forcing myself not to gag. The burn in my throat is welcome. It’s something else to focus on. Something other than my unrelenting pain. I don’t hand the bottle back. I work my way through it under Lauren’s watchful eyes until it’s empty, before slumping back to my mattress and closing my eyes.
I lose my breath for a moment.Leave. Get out of here. As I pass Ava, she comes after me, panicking. I’m panicking too. “Where are you going?”
I stop dead in my tracks, swallowing, my skin clammy. I need to reassure her. Give her some comfort. I look back. Hate the distress on her face. “I need to sort some things out at The Manor.”
“I thought we were doing something this evening,” she says, the edge of desperation in her words sharp.
“Something came up.”
“You’re mad with me,” she blurts.
My voice is suddenly gone, so I can only shake my head. I know it’s not convincing. I’m mad with her, yes. I’m mad with the world, with everything, but I’m mostly mad with myself, and the need to be punished is unshakeable.
And that need becomes even worse as I take the stairs fast, hearing her crying.
I look back when I get to the door, my hand on the handle, my heart in my throat.
I did that to her.
And I must pay for it.
Problem is, if I have a drink, it’ll be Ava paying for it.
46
I remembernothing of the journey to The Manor. I’m too lost in memories and regret. I walk into the busy foyer and see John first. I shy away from his questioning face, passing him and going to the bar. I get three offers from various female members before I make it there.
“Mr. Ward?” Mario asks, as he polishes a glass, my eyes fixed on the top shelf.
John’s massive hand appears on the bar next to mine, his mobile placed down more calmly than I know he’s feeling. I leave and go to my office. I slam the door and walk to the drinks cabinet. Pick up a bottle. Roar at it and slam it down.
Never again.
I walk circles, heave, hit anything that I pass, my heart beating a mile a minute. I sit down. Get up. Pick up the vodka. Stare at it. Set it down. Walk some more.
For over an hour, I go round in circles. Walk. Sit. Stand.
And repeat.
