I push past some guests as I head back to the dance floor, not bothering to look behind me.
My body is shaking and my head is a mess, and if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to break, and I can’t let anyone see me break.
The crowd on the dance floor is thinning out as people start to leave, but there’s still a good amount of people drinking and having a good time.
But I don’t give a shit. I head for my suit jacket that’s hanging over my chair at the table and grab it, fishing my room key out of the pocket.
I see Mack out of my peripheral, and I try my hardest not to look at him. My cock aches and I know I need to get out of here so I can take care of myself in fucking peace.
My hurricane of emotions swirl, biting at my consciousness, or what’s left of it.
He doesn’t want you.
No one wants you because you’re not worth it.
You’ll never have all of this happily ever after shit because you’re not worth it.
No one will ever love you.
I push back the tears threatening to fall. Sure, crying at a wedding is expected, but I don’t need any of these assholes—friends or family—to see me come undone. Especially because it has nothing to do with this fucking wedding.
I’ve had too much to drink, and I’m too worked up emotionally and physically. The trifecta recipe for an Alex Brewer disaster.
I need to get out of here so I can breathe, come, and relax. Maybe pass out.
So that’s what I do. I don’t bother to stop for anyone, and no one stops me.
I think I hear someone call my name, but I ignore that too. The music thumps loudly as the sounds of Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere” fills the air, chastising me and shoving those whimsical romantic notes down my fucking throat, reminding me of what I’ll never have. I jab the elevator buttons, and then I hear the voice, loud and clear.
“I’m fucking talk to you, Alex!” His firm grip is on my shoulder and he forces me to turn around.
Jordan stands there with a confused look on his face, his eyes glistening from drinking, his pouty, kiss-swollen lips parted.
“Leave me the fuck alone.” I shrug him off.
I mash the button, willing it to work faster. The bitterness starts to spread. It’s up to my stomach now.
You aren’t worth more than a blowjob in the bathroom.
Fucking slut. No wonder you can’t find someone to love you.
I screw my eyes shut, shoving the heel of my hand into them as I curse, trying to ignore the vicious voice in my head telling me what a piece of shit I am.
“Alex…”
The elevator door opens not a moment too quickly and I rush inside. Mack follows me, and I try to catch my breath. It’s coming in fast as the voice in my head gets louder, replaying all my failures. I slide my hand around my neck, but I didn’t wear my choker today.Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, I need something in my hands, I need—
My hands find my undone tie, fingers playing at the fabric, needing something to grip, but it’s not enough. It’s not harsh like a chain. It doesn’t do shit for me or the vicious voice in my head.
“Look at me, Alex!” Mack barks. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I shake my head, and for one moment, I steal a glance at him. In the bright lights of the elevator, he looks wildas fuck. His slicked back hair is messy, strands falling out from the gel. His eyes are wide, and he’s looking at me like he actually gives a shit.
For the briefest moment, I want to believe he does, because I am that fucked up.
I push past him when the elevator doors open. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”
