Page 81 of Hunter

I watch him go.

The late afternoon light catches in his curls as he moves down the path, shoulders slightly hunched, arms wrapped around himself like he’s holding his own pieces together.

Only after he disappears around the bend does it hit me.

I never told him I loved him too.

The realization slams into me like a freight train. My knees almost buckle. I stand there, alone by the fountain, the sound of water splashing mockingly loud in my ears.

I love him.

I’m in love with him.

And I just let him walk away thinking I didn’t.

Robby’s laugh echoes in my head.

You always ruin the good things, Hunter.

I sink down onto the bench, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.

I’ll never be healed enough for Charlie. I knew it before, and I know it now.

The thought is too heavy. I force myself up to my feet, legs unsteady, the world tilting around me. I want a drink. I need a drink. Anything to drown out the voice, the pain, the emptiness he left behind.

I spend the next week and a half trying to disappear inside a liquor bottle.

The first night, I finish everything I have left and wake up on the floor with the taste of vomit in my mouth and Robby laughing in my head. The second night, I go out and buy more, cheaper stuff this time, the kind that burns all the way down and makes the room spin faster. I don’t eat. I don’t shower. I just drink until the world goes black, wake up shaking and sick, and start again.

My phone rings a few times. I don’t answer. The screen lights up with Charlie’s name once, then goes dark. I stare at it until it stops, then take another drink. I’ve missed a few group therapies, that’s probably why he’s calling. Tim tried to call, too.

Robby’s voice is constant now, louder than it’s been in months. Sometimes it’s the exaggerated harshness of the remainder of our relationship, and sometimes it’s the lie I told myself for months, that he loved me until the very end.

I drink until his voice gets fuzzy. Then I drink some more.

By the time Tuesday rolls around, I don’t remember deciding to go to group. I just find myself stumbling down the alley, the world tilting hard, the bottle still clutched in my hand like a lifeline. The metal door feels heavier than usual. I push it open, and the warm lighting of the community room hits me like a spotlight.

Faces turn. Tim’s eyes widen.

Charlie is already there, sitting in his usual duct-taped chair. His face goes white the second he sees me—lips parted in shock.

I sway in the doorway, the bottle dangling from my fingers, and laugh. It sounds ugly even to me.

“Look at that,” I slur, gesturing vaguely at the circle. “The whole happy little family is here. Ready to heal? That’s what we’re all here for, right? Healing.”

Tim stands up slowly, voice calm but firm. “Hunter, you’re drunk. Let’s get you some water and⁠—”

“Water?” I cut him off with a harsh bark of laughter. “Fuck water. I’ve been drinking to drown out my dead ex-boyfriend’s voice in my head. He won’t shut up, Tim. Keeps telling me I’m the reason he’s dead. Keeps reminding me I’m a monster. A bastard who doesn’t deserve to be loved or love anyone.”

The room is dead silent. I can feel every eye on me, but the only one that matters is Charlie’s. He’s staring at me like I’m a stranger.

I laugh again, bitter and broken, swaying harder.

“And then I almost fucked Charlie a week and a half ago and pinned him down like the animal I am. He had a full-blown panic attack because of me. Because I’m exactly what Robby says I am. I ruin everything I touch. So yeah, I’m here to heal. Let’s heal, Tim. Tell me how to stop ruining everything I touch.”

Charlie makes a small, hurt sound. His face crumples.

I hate myself more in that moment than I ever have. I drain the bottle in my hand before letting it fall to the ground. The room spins faster. The floor rushes up to meet me.