My hands shake as I unscrew the lid and sit on the end of the bed. Our bed. I grab a glass and fill it, ignoring the tiny grey line a third of the way up the glass that indicates a standard drink. The liquid burns as it slides down my throat. It’s just what I need, a distraction from the pain. I down another glass, then lie down in the same spot where I held her last night.
I glance over to the bedside table and see her painkillers. Without thinking, I get up and walk over to them. I unscrew the lid, shaking a few pills into my hand. I throw them in my mouth, washing them down with another glass of scotch. I don’t care anymore. Life is too fucking cruel for me to give a shit about anything. I had her for less than three months, and now I’ll never see her again.
Throwing myself back down on the bed, I’m feeling woozy. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or the meds, but something is kicking in and it feels good. I close my eyes and remember last night, before everything went to shit. I held her in my arms as she told me she loved me. I curse and roll over. I’m so fucking tired. I feel like I didn’t sleep at all last night, and then today…
I can’t even think about today.
Flicking open my eyes, I curse at the pounding in my head and then close them again. The banging on the door continues, and I remember that’s what woke me in the first place. I lie there, ignoring it, for as long as I can, until it becomes too much. Angry, I drag myself out of bed, my feet thumping on the floor as I stalk towardss the door. I swing it open with so much force it hits the wall.
“What,” I growl. I scowl at Calli through my half-closed eyes.
She jumps, her eyes wide. She looks terrified and I don’t blame her. I’d be scared of me too at the moment.
“Cade,” she whispers. Her voice jolts through me. She sounds so much like Erin I can barely stand it. “I-I came to see how you are.”
“How the fuck do I look?” I mutter.
“Can I come in?” she asks hesitantly.
I sigh, quiet for a long time, before I step aside.
“Sure, if it gets rid of you faster,” I mumble.
She looks taken aback by my comment, but follows me inside. I lie back down on the bed and throw my arms over my head to shield out the light. I can feel her awkwardly standing there, as if she’s not sure what to do or say.
“What are you doing here, Calli?” I growl. I just want to be left alone to dull the pain.
“I told you I wanted to see how you are,” she says.
“Why bother? We’re done communicating now, right? I upheld my end of the deal. You paid me. We’re even, right? What’s the problem?”
“You know what the problem is.” Her voice is soft. “This whole thing didn’t exactly go to plan.”
“When does life ever go to plan?” I ask bitterly.
I lower my arms and glare at her. What have I got to do to get her to leave?
She glances around, taking in the half-empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table next to the pills. Her forehead creases. She walks over to them and picks up the bottle. Her eyes widen.
“Erin’s painkillers,” she gasps. “Are you serious, Cade?”
“It’s none of your business what I do in my room.” I get up and grab her arm, leading her to the door. “I think this conversation is o
ver.”
“You’re not the only one hurting, Cade.” Her words barely register because I’m still so strung out. “I lost her too,” she whispers, but I’m not listening.
I stumble back to the bed and fall back to sleep before she’s even closed the door.
Hours later I wake up with an intense need to pee. I stumble over to the bathroom, stubbing my toe on the doorframe along the way.
“Fuck,” I growl as pain throbs through it. It’s light outside, so either I’ve been asleep for a hell of a long time or a very short time. I’m not sure which is worse. I do what I need to do, wash my hands, and then hobble over to the couch. My toe throbs as I sit down to inspect it. Too bad. I think I’ll live.
Sighing, I pick up my phone. Holy shit. Eighteen missed calls. Most are from Mum, but there a few from Calli, and a text from Chris, making sure I’m okay. I toss it aside, not in the mood to talk to anyone.
My stomach growls, but I can’t bothered eating. I can’t be bothered doing much of anything at all. Except maybe drinking. Yeah, I can be bothered doing that.
I reach over to the coffee table and grab the scotch, sculling it straight from the bottle. I glance around the room and wince. I pity the cleaner who gets to deal with this mess. I flick on the TV just for the distraction and noise before retreating to the bed. My head pounds, but I’ve taken so many painkillers that I don’t trust myself with any more.