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The heavy grayness returns in no time, but at least I have something to look forward to that isn’t just more painful emptiness.
*
Saturday morning.
My head is pounding so hard I feel like it’s going to explode. My mouth is dry. I feel weak and very, very nauseated.
Guys’ night wasn’t a good idea.
I didn’t get a grip on myself, on my life. I drank way, way too much—drank myself stupid and only very temporarily numb.
My head throbs worse as I hurry out of bed, as does the bruise I banged into existence on my right knee last night, but I ignore them and stagger to the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before I vomit deep and hard.
Fucking disgusting.
I feel disgusting.
Alcohol wasn’t the answer.
Trying to block Liv out wasn’t the answer.
But how can I get her to talk to me?
It’s been a week and some hours now since she last talked—
I throw up some more.
God, I feel like death.
But it’s Saturday morning. My alarm is what woke me up. I need to visit Lolly and go to work before too long.
Throat burning, I rest my sweaty forehead on my arms, unable to keep in a sob of frustration and exhaustion.
Was it really two entire weeks ago that I woke up with Liv’s fingertips on my chest?
I thought she was coming around to me.
I’m crying before I can stop myself. Losing her pushed me to tears as it was, and now this hangover is stabbing into me and I’m just—I’m fucked.
What am I supposed to do? Forget her? Forget Rae? Forget what they did to my life?
That’s impossible.
Butwhatam I…?
I only realize after I force myself through a cup of coffee and a shower that I need to talk to someone about her.
Bill. I want to talk to Bill.
He really did figure this out a long time ago—he knew what was happening to me beforeIdid. He can help me.
I call him on the way to see Lolly. He asks if I can meet at the bar in half an hour. It’s soon, but I’m not going to spend a lot of time at Quiet Springs anyway. Lolly hasn’t remembered me at all this last week. Not for a moment.
It’s the same thing this time. I walk into her room and she doesn’t know who the hell I am. I tell her I’m her grandson and she tells me she doesn’t have one.
I’m crying a-fucking-gain by the time I leave.
In the empty, silent bar, I’m slumped on a stool when Bill arrives.
