Page 73 of Tainted Tempos

I ignore the messages and phone calls blowing up my phone’s screen.

It’s my brother, Reign, and Levi. Maybe even Flip.

But I don’t want to talk to anyone except Mckenna.

I didn’t realize how deeply it would hurt for her to cut me out of her life. And she does it so easily. Like it’s effortless.

I miss her. I miss us.

To distract myself, I drive.

Aimlessly. For hours. Until it’s pitch black, and the night provides a sliver of comfort.

But that restless energy remains. I’m fucking exhausted but know sleep won’t come.

Not tonight. Not when I feel like this.

I park in front of a well-worn, well-loved neighborhood pub.

It’s been so long since I’ve had to numb the anger. To cancel out the bitterness.

When I was with Mckenna, I didn’t feel it. But now that she’s gone, it’s back in full force, swallowing me up and making me yearn for nothingness.

I drop onto a barstool and look at the bartender.

“What can I get you?” he asks.

“Your best bottle of tequila.”

He frowns. I drop a black AmEx on the top of the bar.

He sighs but does as I ask. I hold the bottle to my lips and take a pull.

It burns like a bitch going down.

I do it again. And again. Until it feels like nothing.

Like air.

My mind numbs, and the room spins.

Bright lights, expanses of dark sky, stars. Fucking stars.

The setting shifts.

There’s laughter and partying. There’s white powder and fancy cocktails. There’s a yacht.

And more stars. Ugh.

A swanky hotel room. A sports car that’s fire-engine red.

There are women. And money. Music. The best goddamn music.

Debauchery and desperation.

Minutes that pass and hours that blend.

Sunrises and sunsets. Entire days.

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