“With pity and confusion like everyone else?” Lifting the bottle to my lips, I down a few more shots before slamming it on the coffee table.
“You’re a fucking idiot. Open your fucking eyes and see what’s right in front of you.”
“A girl who’s too good for me. A girl I never should have touched. A girl who has the world at her feet and doesn’t need to be dragged down by the likes of me.”
He stares at me, his chest heaving as if he’s just run a fucking marathon, but he doesn’t give me what I need. What I crave.
Instead, he just continues to rip shreds off me just like she’s unknowingly done all day.
“A girl who fucking loves you, man. A girl who would do fucking anything for you, even if it meant hurting herself in the process. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. And if you think I’m going to watch you rip both of your hearts out because of your insecurities, then you really need to fucking think again.”
It’s me who makes the first move this time, my fist colliding with Alex’s face with a sickening crunch before blood begins pouring from his nose.
An animalistic growl rips through the air a beat before he flies at me, finally caving to his dark need to hurt me over what I’ve done. All the air rushes from my lungs as his fist lands in my stomach, forcing me to bend over, but I manage to recover before his second hit comes.
Reality finally vanishes and I fully let myself drown in the dark abyss I’m so used to living in.
* * *
The first thing I feel when I wake is agony. But I’m not sure what hurts worse—my face or the empty void in my chest.
“Fuck,” I groan, flipping onto my back, every inch of me aching with a delicious, addictive kind of pain that I know I’ll never get enough of.
It’s almost enough to override that in my chest. Almost.
Another loud groan rips through the air before something warm touches my hand.
“What the—” I sit up, immediately reaching for the knife that lives under my pillow.
Although I quickly release it again when I discover who’s decided to make use of the other side of my bed.
“I’ve got a fucking spare room, prick,” I mutter, my tongue thick from the lingering effects of vodka and whatever else I might have found last night, and my voice rough as fuck from sleep.
“Thought you might wake up crying and need me.”
“Un-fucking-likely,” I grunt.
Pushing onto my elbows, I attempt to sit up. I soon discover it’s a fucking stupid thing to do when my head swims and my stomach lurches.
“Do not fucking chuck up on me,” Alex warns as I crash back to the pillows and throw my arm over my eyes.
“Fuck off,” I grunt, not interested in an audience while I drown in my hangover and misery.
“I told you not to drink so much.”
“Well, I’m so fucking sorry for disappointing you,” I deadpan. “Although you should be used to it by now.”
“Bro,” he breathes.
“No,” I snap, lifting my arm and glaring at him. “No. You don’t get to lie there and tell me all the things I should and shouldn’t have done. You have no idea what I’ve been through. What Calli and I had. So I do not need your advice on the situation. She is where she belongs, and she is safe. That’s what’s important right now.”
“But—”
“No, Alex,” I bark, swallowing down the bile that rushes up my throat when I force my body to stand upright. “I don’t need your advice right now. I just need you to leave.”
I storm toward my en suite, swinging the door closed behind me, wincing the second the bang hits my ears.
Fuck. I really am fucking hanging.