Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“I-I’m just like him.”
“Like who?”
“I really messed up, Col.”
“Fuck, you’re legit starting to scare me. Look, come here and sober up, yeah? Grab an Uber and we’ll have a late dinner. Probably best you don’t sleep there tonight.”
“Nah…” I swallowed another bitter mouthful of whiskey fire. “I need to tell her I died and then I’m just gonna crash.”
“Wait. Who’s dying? Don’t do a damn thing until you’ve slept the booze out of your system.”
“Can’t. Need to do this before it’s too late.”
He cursed under his breath. “How much have you had to drink, Zan?”
I eyed the bottle with blurry eyesight and shrugged. “No idesha.”
I took another sip.
I hadn’t meant to call him.
However, the drunker I got, the sadder I became, and I desperately needed someone to figure out how to remove the agonising dagger that’d permanently wedged itself in my heart before I went insane.
Leaning back in the chair, I ran my hand through my hair.
At least it was back to being red.
I’d had a shower and dressed in black track pants and a white tee before aimlessly trying to figure out what to eat.
That was where the whiskey came in.
I’d found no food, only this bottle.
And drinking on an empty stomach and a broken heart did not mix well.
“Do you think she’ll hate me forever?” I mumbled. “Like…if I turned myshhelf in, do you think I could make this all go away?”
“Right, that’s it. I’m coming over.”
“No.” I sloshed the bottle around, making the amber liquid bubble. “I like being alone. I’m meant to be alone. I don’t deserve anyone after what I’ve done.”
“Wow, you’re a depressive drunk. Anyone ever tell you that?” The sound of a key fob beeping echoed down the phone line, followed by the slam of a car door. “Tell me what’s happened. Why are you drinking? And use full sentences instead of this cryptic crap.”
I laughed as if that was the funniest request in the world. And then almost broke into tears because I’d lost the best thing I’d ever found. “I fucked everything up. I just shtold you.”
An engine roared. “Come on, Zan, this isn’t you. You need to sober up and talk to me.”
I sighed heavily and sagged in the chair. “Stop nagging.”
“You never get drunk. Remember why? You don’t get drunk because of your patients. You told me you’d never kill off brain cells doing something as stupid as drinking when it’s clinically proven to murder quite a few of them with every level of intoxication.”
“You’re annoying.”
“I’m right, that’s what’s annoying.” He huffed. “I’m ten minutes away. Put the bottle down and go eat something.”
“I have no food.” I sighed heavily. “No wonder she doesn’t want to be with me. I can’t even stock my fridge.”
“Okay, new plan. I’ll be there in twenty, and I’ll pick up a pizza. But I’m warning you, Zander, stop drinking right now. Whatever’s bugging you, you can talk to me about it when I get there.”
He hung up.
I sucked back more whiskey.
If only the burn in my throat would erase the burn in my heart.
* 49 *
Sailor
Accidental Spying
I WOKE WITH A START, FEELING as though something was terribly wrong.
Sitting upright where I lay on the floor, the blanket that I’d kept after X covered me in the garden slid off my shoulders and pooled around my waist.
He did it again…
Cool air licked around my nakedness.
For a second, I couldn’t remember why I was bare in the middle of my equally bare living room.
But then, I remembered.
X.
Sex.
Best day of my life.
Spinning around, I looked behind me to where my stalker turned lover had been sleeping.
And froze.
Empty.
I brushed my fingers over the cushions and recoiled.
Cold.
He’s been gone a while.
Scrambling to my feet, I glanced at the clothes scattered on the floor. His t-shirt tangled with mine, but his trousers and boots were gone.
My heart turned into a lump of ice.
No…
Wrapping the blanket around my shoulders, I stumbled into the kitchen. The cupboards were still closed, the fridge tucked tight instead of flung open by a ghost. Scanning the countertops, I searched for a note or a sign that X hadn’t vanished. That he hadn’t upped and left without a goodbye.
My phone.
Darting back into the living room, I grabbed my jean-shorts and fished my phone from the pocket. Swiping it on, I scanned the social notifications and noticed a few messages from Lily but nothing from X.
Not a single word or apology or explanation.
A slithering, stinging agony crept through me, coiling around my organs and climbing up the step ladder of my ribs.
He couldn’t just leave…not after what we’d done.
Not after what we’d felt.
Hot, blistering tears threatened to fall, but I sniffed them back.
No.
I wouldn’t cry.
Not over this.
Not because of him.
He might be coming back.
I clung to my mind’s excuse.
That’s right.
He might have left to grab some dinner. He was coming back and—