Whoever said love was easy is a goddamn fool.
It's wild and tempestuous, sweeping you up in its chaos and tossing you toward an unknown shore.
It’s wicked red drops seeping from the cuts you get when you stray too close to its sharp edges.
It’s sunshine and fucking rainbows tangled with the crackling skies of a stormy night.
Love is your greatest strength, but also your ultimate weakness.
It's your biggest win, but it can also be your most profound failure.
It builds relationships, then torpedoes through them, leaving you standing in the ashes where hearts used to beat.
Love isn't easy. It's fucking ruthless.
But it can also be gentle and peaceful.
Love looks like Hayvin, and it guts me to know I was so willfully blind to it.
What Do You Want, Hayvin?
Hayvin
WhatI’verealizedoverthe last two days is that my entire relationship with Alek was a wild, tangled mess.
A stupid, ugly, and strangely beautiful lie.
A gorgeous illusion that broke my heart.
A ridiculous forgery, stamped twice with stupidity.
Want to know something else I’ve learned? Never swig tequila straight from the bottle when the truth finally hits. But really, what choice did I have when my best friend declared it was time to stop sobbing over that...what did she call him? Oh, right...backstabbing shitpouch, and insisted we get drunk instead.
After a first night drowning in insecurity and tears, and a second night burning with a rage that could have scorched the world, tonight seemed perfect for blackout drunk, since I’m safe with my best friend.
I haven’t pulled a stunt this dumb since my teenage days running wild with Everleigh and her brother, Titan. Buthonestly, I’ve earned a night of pure stupidity if it means shutting my brain up for once. I’m exhausted from replaying every possible scenario from the last two days.
Did they run into each other's arms the moment he got there? Did they kiss passionately? Did he finally fuck her like he's always wanted to?
A sharp sting on my forehead yanks me out of the thoughts I keep trying to outrun.
I reach up and rub the spot. "Ouch." I blink a few times to bring Everleigh into focus. "Did you flick me on the forehead?"
At least, I think that’s what I ask, but my words sound like a drunken jumble, so for all I know, it’s just gibberish spilling out.
"Maybe one of these times it'll flick those thoughts away for good," she mutters, pouring a shot and tossing it back. "You're supposed to be drinking to have peace from those three thunder cunts."
"Three?"
"David is on my shit list, too. He knew and still took him with."
Sitting up straight is a battle, but I manage a wobbly, drunken scramble anyway.
Oh no, she can’t pin this on the wrong guy. Why is she even trying to blame him?
"Ever, you can't blame David!"
I mean, yeah, sure, my demand would probably carry a lot more weight if I didn't sound like I was talking through three years' worth of exhaustion... oh, wait.
