Tristan doesn't react—to the girl leaving or to Jason. His eyes haven't left mine. Where his gaze looked both victorious just a moment ago, he's now studying me with a small frown. He straightens and takes a step toward me.
"Remy…" he starts, unsure. I can tell he's seeing the pain in my eyes, and thankfully showing at least a shred of humanity by seeming to care. His glance darts across my face, taking in the true depth of what I'm showing him, and I can tell he's realized he went too far.
"Remy…" he tries again, this time with a small break in his voice. He takes another step toward me.
I shake my head and look down. "Well, I guess you'd know better than I would," I say quietly. I take a deep breath, then look back up at him with a tight smile. "I'm sure you're right. I guess I was an idiot to think differently. Excuse me." I turn away from Tristan and make my way toward the exit.
"Remy, I didn't mean—" But I don't hear the end of it because I'm already out the door.
22
Remy
I spend the rest of the evening getting shitfaced in my apartment by myself. I've never been any more than a social drinker, but in this moment, I just want to escape from my reality—or at least dull the edges of it. Anything is better than feeling what I feel right now.
Tristan's parting comment plays on repeat in my head, and every time it does, I feel my heart splinter a little more. I can't decide what hurts worse: his words, or the fact that I was so epically wrong about him. I alternate between hating Tristan for being so heartless, hating myself for being such an idiot, and fighting the pull of a downward spiral of sheer heartache.
Occasionally I remember my work troubles, which spikes a welcome distraction of panic through my thoughts. I have no one to blame but myself for what happened and I'm fairly certain I'm getting fired on Monday. So, on top of everything, I'll be jobless.
I down another shot of tequila at the thought.
Jax calls me at some point but by then I'm already a few shots deep and I can't bring myself to talk to anyone. I pour myself another shot as I let it go to voicemail.
Sometime later, I pull out my computer and attempt to write something. But I'm drunk enough by then that it's just an angry stream of consciousness that doesn't make any sense, and it barely provides any relief to my overworked brain.
I slam my computer shut and throw my head back against the couch, a single tear rolling down my cheek.
* * *
I somehow manage to sleep through the night, but after chugging some water and forcing down some toast, I go right back to sleep. My exhausted body happily gives into the blackness.
I wake several hours later, my head pounding with a vicious hangover and my phone beeping with incoming text messages. I groan and squint at the screen with one eye.
There's another missed call from Jax this morning but it's Hailey that's blowing up my phone right now. I frown and try to focus.
Hailey: I hate Steve
Hailey: I hate him so goddamn much
Hailey: I don't know what I was thinking moving in here
Hailey: I need to get out of this house
Hailey: Are you around this weekend? Can I come over?
My eyes widen at the texts. I always knew Hailey would reach the wakeup point eventually but I was definitely not expecting it with this much intensity. I immediately type my response.
Remy: Yea I'm home. I'm moping too so come join the party.
Her response comes quickly.
Hailey: I'm already on my way
I glance at the time. It's almost 4:00, which means I've somehow managed to waste almost an entire day. And yet, when everything from this week comes rushing back, the only thing I want to do is curl up under the covers and go back to unconsciousness.
That plan is indefinitely put on hold when I hear Hailey fumbling with her keys in the hallway. She opens the door with a bang.
We both stare at each other with raised eyebrows—me because of Hailey's whirlwind entrance and her because of my very obviously hungover and pathetic state on the couch.