My hand grasps the neck of the bottle tightly as the battle rages in my chest, and then slowly, painfully, I let go.
Stepping back, my heart pounding, I force myself to leave it behind.
The couch greets me like an old enemy as I collapse onto it, trying to pick up where I left off before the whiskey lured me into the kitchen.MasterCheffills the room with voices and the clatter of pans, but it doesn’t drown out the noise in my head.
My hands shake as I pick up the tiny diamond pen to press another bead into its spot on the canvas. It slips free, bouncing onto the table. My trembling fingers won’t cooperate, no matter how hard I try.
“Fuck,” I mutter, tossing the pen down. It bounces to the floor, joining the pile of beads scattered beneath the coffee table.
I lean back, my head thudding against the cushion, eyes slipping shut. The whiskey is still there. Still watching. Still calling.
Drinking may never be an option again if that was the last time I saw Koen, as he’s the only one who can take thecompulsion back. Not that I’m in the mood to challenge him right now. I don’t even know where the hell any of them are.
Then there’s Hottie. It’s been two days since we had our testing date.
Probably fucked that up too.
It’s been even longer since I’ve heard from Annabelle, and it’s lonelier than I care to admit. Maybe that’s what’s clawing at me now. This stupid, pathetic loneliness.
I stripped the evening I left Koen standing in that alleyway and yesterday evening, too, while I kept my eyes open for something, someone to fill the void.
I even went so far as to turn up at Vortex, but there was nothing for me there. Hottie wasn’t working, of course, and every other face was lacking—no spark, no thrill. And I hate that realization more than anything. I hate that I want him, that I’m already attached in some pathetic way. It gives him power over me, the same way Koen has with the no-drinking rule.
Ugh!
My tits are way too nice for my life to be like this.
A tapping at the patio door pulls me out of my swirling thoughts, and I push myself up, walking over to find Good Lookin’ perched outside, her little paws pressing against the glass, demanding entrance.
I slide the door open and crouch, patting my thigh. “Where have you been, huh? And why are you here in the middle of the day?” I ask her. I was already worried after not seeing her for a few days.
She lets out a little chirping sound, a quiet reminder that someone, at least, still cares. Padding past me, she hops onto the pink couch like she owns the place. I sigh, leaving the door open for some fresh air, then drop onto the couch beside her. Good Lookin’ turns and crawls into my lap, curling up and letting out a loud, rumbling purr.
I scratch behind her ears, sighing. “Guess you’re the only one who still wants to hang out with me, huh?”
She blinks at me, unconcerned, as if my entire world could crumble, and she’d still demand her ear scratches. I oblige, my fingers moving gently, finding comfort in her small, steady presence. The lump in my throat rises again, but I swallow it down. The ache in my chest doesn’t go away, though, and I wonder if it ever will.
When my phone buzzes on the coffee table, it pulls me from the edge of my spiraling thoughts. I lean forward, displacing Good Lookin’ just enough that she lets out a disgruntled chirp.
My fingers close around the phone, and the screen lights up with a message from Captain Bossy.
Captain Bossy
You done sulking yet?
I huff out a laugh, sharp and bitter, my fingers trembling slightly as they hover over the keyboard. A million sarcastic replies spring to mind, but none of them feel right. My thumb hesitates, hovering, before finally typing.
Didn’t realize you cared.
I don’t. Just wondering if you’re gonna keep acting like a brat or actually be useful.
You already told me that I’m useless. Thank you very much.
Stop being dramatic. You know that’s not what I meant.
I roll my eyes, my thumbs tapping out a response before I can think better of it.
Could’ve fooled me. You’re not exactly Mr. Warm and Fuzzy, you know.
