Page 105 of Crave Thy Neighbor

From moving.

From pretending I’m okay.

From acting like my heart isn’t on fire.

I skip my bath, but not the bottle of wine.

When my head hits the pillow and I reach across the empty bed, the tears finally come.

18

Nolan

It’s ironic, really, me sitting at Hole in One slinging back shots.

The night I met Maya, I tried to convince her I wasn’t there to nurse a broken heart.

Tonight, that’s exactly what I’m doing.

I couldn’t bear the thought of going home to an empty apartment again, so I’m sitting on a barstool trying to drown my sorrows. This is the third night this week Donny has fed me drinks.

I’m starting to feel a buzz, but it’s nowhere near the one I felt whenever Maya was there.

It never is.

If this is even a fraction of what my father felt when my mother left, I have no idea how the old man held out as long as he did.

I’m tired because I’m not sleeping. Being in my bed without her doesn’t feel right. I’m hungry because I’m not eating because I can’t, and my head is throbbing because it’s waging a constant battle with my heart.

If this is being in love, no thanks.

It’s fucking exhausting.

The worst part of it all? This is my own damn fault.

I knew the moment I let my frustration out and directed it at Sam I’d fucked up. Deep down I didn’t mean to yell at the kid, but I couldn’t stop the words coming out of my mouth. I wanted to hurt her before she could hurt me.

It’s what I do. What I’ve always done.

And I’m a fucking moron for doing so.

Being without her these last few weeks…I know that now.

Dean was right about the moments. They’re all I have to cling to, and I find myself escaping into them more than I probably should since I’m the one who did the leaving like a coward.

Someone bumps into me, jostling the fresh shot of whiskey in my hand.

It’s rare I ever do shots, but I needed them today.

“What the…”

The words die on my lips when Dean comes into view and a shadow falls over me as Cooper slips onto the stool on my other side.

I tighten my hand around the shot glass and toss the liquid back, then I run the back of my hand across my lips.

“What.”

It’s not a question. Not really.

---