Page 27

I shouldn't be here, in this pub. But I am.

I shouldn't be drinking. But I am.

I do it anyway.

It was supposed to be easy, though. It should've been easy. But the closer I got to the edge, the harder it became to pretend I was fine.

My grip on the crystal glass tightened—my fingers pressed against it—knuckles turning white.

I just want to feel something. Like I've got a hold on something, so I can forget the shit I've been carrying inside.

It's all fake, though. I know it. I know I'm not doing this for the right reasons. It's not about them. It's about me. It's about what I can't fix. What I can't have.

Grace.

Just thinking about her hurts, but at the same time, I can't help needing her—every part of me aches for her.

I feel like I'm losing my mind.

How do I stop this?

My father.

He just doesn't get it. Doesn't see me. I'm 21 years old and he still makes me feel like I'm 4 years old again.

Another shot.

Another one.

Is it the third or the seventh? I'm losing count. Good. Keep going.

I don't know if it's the alcohol or the memories, but I can't keep thinking like this.

I slid my platinum credit card across the bar, and the bartender definitely got the hint—I wasn't messing around.

He prepared another shot, and I didn't hesitate for a second. I grabbed the glass as soon as he poured it.

I downed it.

When does this stop?

I was swallowing the burning poison when a sudden voice cut through the noise beside me.

"You look like you need company."

A girl's voice—low, sly.

Guess that Dior Hypnotic Poison I sprayed myself earlier is living up to its name.

I lazily turned my head, my world starting to spin from the alcohol. This girl stood next to me with a mischievous grin on her face.

Blonde hair and blue eyes—I froze at their sight—reminding me of a certain someone.

But Grace—she has these ocean-blue eyes, the kind that see right through me.

This girl's eyes don't make me feel that way.

Or any other way.

And maybe that's why I'm here. Because it's easier to feel nothing than deal with everything she makes me feel.

I took another shot before talking.

"Do tell?" I said, mock-curiosity dripping from my tone.

She leaned against the counter, getting purposefully closer to me, her smile a little too easy.

"You seem lost." Her voice was teasing.

"What a sharp observation," I replied coolly.

She smirked, amused. She was ready for me to take the bait. "Need a little help finding yourself again?"

I knew what this was. She was drawing me in, making me feel like the conversation had meaning. It hadn't.

I let out a sarcastic scoff. "That's impossible."

Her lips curled into a self-assured grin. "I can make things possible..."

I averted my eyes, not impressed. "Try harder." My voice didn't even sound like mine—it was flat, rough.

Another shot.

What the hell am I doing here?

Good. I want to forget.

The blonde leaned in too close. I leaned back, but her finger traced my necklace, dragging it slowly across my neck as she grinned.

She only sees the money in it, but for me, it's just another way to hide what's really going on.

One more shot should do.

I chugged it.

My throat was on fire, and I finally forget about everything and everyone.

"What do you want?" I demanded, my voice devoid of any human emotion.

"A bed and an helping hand," she replied quickly.

I called an Uber and headed toward my house.

With her.

~

I snapped my eyes open.

I realized it was morning only when the early sunlight from the curtains burned my eyes.

I was in my room and everything was spinning like a fucking tornado.

My throat throbbed terribly, my mouth tasted like expensive liquor and regret, and I wasn't in control of anything.

My blurred vision shifted to the side—there's a girl on my left.

I almost said Grace's name until my eyes focused properly and I realized—it wasn't her.

It was the nameless girl from last night.

I fucked up.

I quickly lowered my gaze to my body, and the surprise hit me—I was still in my dress. It wasn't even unzipped.

A wave of relief flooded over me, but I couldn't shake the confusion that followed.

I still don't remember what happened.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Did we—did we do it? I prayed we didn't. I just wanted to snap out of this and realize it was all a fucked-up, crappy nightmare.

Confusing pieces of last night flickered behind my eyes. A disoriented ride back home, slurred words, shattered moments of me and her stumbling in my room.

And then... a blank.

Just empty fragments. No emotion. No attachment.

I don't know what the fuck I had in my head to think it was a good idea. I don't know how much I drank to feel this numb—definitely enough to make me forget everything.

Fuck me.

How could I let myself fall this far? How did I let the alcohol make the decision for me?

I'm not doing this shit ever again. This fucking ends now.

I get up, trying not to rush, but fuck—everything spins for a few seconds before I steady myself.

If anything, I just woke the girl who shifted in my bed, which is actually a good thing—now I can kick her out.

"Uhm..." she muttered, sounding irritated, before turning her head to me. "Just so you don't have to report me, we didn't do anything." Her voice was biting.

She looked so pissed, but honestly, who gives a damn?!

I was just so relieved to know we didn't do anything.

"Spill it," I said, still waiting for the full story.

"Don't look at me like that—I'm not a monster," she snapped, defensive.

I rolled my eyes. "Explain already."

"You were fucking drunk as hell, and the second we got into your room, you were all, 'Nah,'" She let out a scoff.

"Oh, and then you started mumbling stuff—nonsense, like you were looking for someone else.

Guess I wasn't what you wanted after all.

" Her voice sharpened with sarcasm and attitude.

"You never were—for the record," I shot back. "And why the hell are you still in my bed?"

She huffed. "I didn't have enough money on my card to call an Uber."

I've never felt this fucking relieved about not having sex in my entire life. I had this stupid little smile on my face.

Still, her words felt like a slap.

Learning about everything from a fucking stranger—it's humiliating, especially considering what she claimed I did...

The idea that I was looking for someone else—someone who wasn't even here—it was almost... laughable and absolutely... relatable for my delusional self.

I won't even deny who I was thinking of in my drunk hallucinations—it was Grace.

The girl still in my bed raised an eyebrow, her expression challenging. "Are you even single?"

"That's none of your business," I shot back, dismissing her.

"Too bad..." She faked a smile. "Though, we still have time..." her voice dripping with teasing.

"You're wasting your breath," I said sharply, my lip curling in disdain. "And I'm not wasting another second on you."

She snapped. "You would have enjoyed it if we had done it."

I feel like I'm going to throw up.

"You're seriously delusional if you think I care," I scoffed, brushing her off and heading to the door.

She was about to speak, but I cut her nonsense off. "I need to drink some fucking water. When I get back, I'll give you money so you can get your ass out of my bed. For good."

She sneered. "Not even a thank you."

The audacity.

"Should I owe you a thank you for not having non-consensual sex with me?" I fired back.

I left her with a stupid, pissed expression on her face and stepped out of my room, pausing in the doorway to pull myself together.

Shit—I feel like I've been going through some serious rollercoaster rides.

I'm emotionally scattered.

I'm high and exhausted. I'm relieved yet conflicted.

But at this point, my delusional self was trying to convince me that everything would be fine.

Here's what I need to do.

I need to talk to Grace. I need to face everything. I need to stop running from it.

Once I finally admit it, things will settle for us.

Or this is what I'm craving.

Feels like I'm running on a lot of delusion and wishful thinking lately. And, Jesus—a ton of stupid, impulsive decisions.

But that's okay. I can fix it.

I'm choosing to believe it'll all work out now.