Page 88 of Carry On

I drank to drown it out.

To drown out the guilt.

And the anger.

The panic.

Expensive whiskey went down a hell of a lot easier than the cheap shit. I skipped the glass and drank straight from the fucking bottle.

And still, no amount of alcohol could erase the look on Lincoln’s face after I damn near killed him.

It won’t help,the voice commented.

Nothing could get the look of fear on his face out of my head.

Fear of me.

Of course, he’s afraid of you,the voice said.

And the way he flinched when I tried to touch him?

Fuck, I’d screwed up bad.

Does that surprise you?the voice demanded.

No, no, it did not. After everything, I deserved that.

I should’ve left. I should’ve grabbed my shit and gone. His life would improve monumentally if I were gone.

But I couldn’t do it. Drowning in whiskey in the warmth of his condo far outweighed the alternative.

I didn’t have a clue how long I sat there. Eventually, I stopped drinking, and the sun went down, but I didn’t have it in me to move from that spot. I was stuck inside my head, brutalized by all the what-ifs and rambling thoughts I couldn’t control.

When Lincoln walked in sometime before midnight, I still didn’t move. I didn’t have the energy to. I also didn’t know what the hell to say to him.Sorry, I almost killed youwouldn’t quite cut it. I hoped to hell he’d just leave me to my wallowing, and we’d try this conversation in the morning.

What makes you think he wants you to stay?the voice asked.After what you did to him? He’s scared of you.

He was. That flinch played on repeat in my head. I couldn’t let it go. He was scared of me.

Do you blame him?the voice continued.

No… no, I fucking didn’t.

The lights flipped on, and he sat on the coffee table in front of me. My heart dropped out of my chest. The open collar of his dress shirt put his neck on display. His skin was bruised and violently irritated.

Fuck.

I did that to him.

My eyes stung, and my nose burned with the onslaught of guilt and shame. I looked away. I couldn’t face him.

He picked up the whiskey bottle on the table and took a long sip before giving me his full attention.

“How drunk are you?” Lincoln asked softly. The rasp in his voice cut through my stomach like a hot knife.

I said nothing. I didn’t know what to say.

Nothing you say can fix this,the voice commented.