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The daily hangovers aren’t new.
The nightly binge drinking isn’t a shock.
This is what Ward has always been.
And, yes, there was a time when I leaned into it and didn’t mind it all that much.
That was a different part of me. A different time.
Ward has his life placed right in front of him.
So do I.
“What is this, Mila?” Ward asks. “Just spill it. I’m not in the mood. I have a pounding headache and I think I’m going to throw up again. I’ll never drink that foreign booze again.”
“That’s the plan? Not to drink just that stuff?”
“Oh, here we go. This is a good one. Tell me you weren’t drunk last night, Mila. I see it in your eyes. They’re tired and glossy. You’re hungover too.”
“Yeah, but-”
“So?”
“This isn’t going to work, Ward. I said it before and I’m saying it again. I’m saying right now. Loud and clear. We’re both sober enough to look at each other.”
“Yeah, okay, Mila. This is you acting all perfect, right? You’re going to be a doctor. Nobody around you can have any flaws. You crave perfection. It’s what you need to survive. I get it. And I guess I’m not part of it.”
There. He said the words for you. Now leave.
“I’m sorry, Ward,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have let things go on like this with us. We both can feel the tension all the time. We’re going in different directions. I don’t want to hate you for that. I don’t want you to hate me either.”
“Too fucking late for that,” Ward says.
He slams the door in my face.
I jump back.
I swallow hard.
A part of me wants to feel upset. Sad. Hurt. Lonely. Maybe even shed a tear or two.
Instead, I just stare at the door.
I don’t know what to feel right now.
I just know what I want right now.
43
JAX
It’s a jock filled party and I don’t want to be here.
These early afternoon parties are something else.
They’ll rage into the night, past midnight, but getting there early just sets the stage for more time for bad decisions.
My presence alone is a bad decision.
