“Too late for that, Lark.”
“Please, don’t…” She trailed off.
Pan could hear the tears in her voice.
“Don’t say that. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”
“I don’t think that’s possible. You wait till I leave and you bail without a word.”
“Don’t make it sound like I cleared all my shit out. I had a girl’s weekend just the way I said. With you gone, I had time to think. Would you rather I keep it all in and one day, tell you I couldn’t do it any more…years later?”
“I’d rather you be here with me, where you belong.”
“Don’t you think I wish that too?”
“I don’t know, Lark, do you?”
“You know what? I can’t do this over the phone with you. Meet me tomorrow for lunch,
please?”
“We’ll see. Look I need to go get cleaned up and get some rest. It’s been a long week.”
“Hartley, don’t shut me out like this.”
She’d ripped his chest open. Now, it was all he could do to staunch the flow of blood and keep from dying emotionally. “You wanted distance and time to think. I understand. I’ll give you that.” He disconnected the call while feeling numb. When he left a week ago, his life was perfect. Now, he returned to chaos, disappointment and uncertainty.
Pan walked to the kitchen, opened the cabinet and took out a bottle of whiskey. Beer
wouldn’t do it this time. If he didn’t get drunk enough to pass out tonight, he’d break down, go over to her apartment and persuade her to come back. That wouldn’t be good for either of him. A make-shift patch would only lead to
devastation later down the road. She needed to make her choices sans his influence.
He untwisted the cap and took a pull from the bottle. The brown liquid burned its way down his throat and settled in the pit of his belly. Warmth spread through his body, chasing away the icy coldness of doubt and fear. He made his way to the bedroom they shared, draining the bottle.
Fifteen minutes later, he was buzzing, blissfully numb and sprawled across the bed with the light receding as he fell into an unconscious state.
Sometime later, he groaned, clutching his head as the phone jangled. He groped for the
machine blindly and brought it to his ear. “Hello?”
“Pan? Are you drunk?” Lark’s voice sounded sharp.
“No, I’m hung over.” He winced. “There’s a difference.”
“I was afraid you’d do this.”
“Don’t worry about me. Do what you need to do.” Grunting, he pushed into a sitting
position.
“How can you say that? You know I’ll worry about you.”
“Funny, you weren’t when you left the minute I was out of the house.”
“It wasn’t like that and you know it.”
“I don’t feel like I know much of anything.”