Page 206 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

I consider my options.

A: Stay here and rot the way I’ve been doing for a month.

B: Take a day off from crying and have fun with my friend.

The answer is easy.

“Okay.”

KANE

I’m in hell.

Call me dramatic, but going through life without Hadley Queen is what I imagine hell to look like.

Only, in my version of hell, there are no flames, no tormented souls, no devil…

Just silence.

Loneliness.

And this intense, piercing cold that chills you to the bone.

I’ve been alone with all these thoughts… all this guilt… for over a month now.

I’d say I reached my lowest point last night, when I ruined all of my progress by drinking my way through that club’s entire liquor supply, but something tells me I’ve yet to hit rock bottom.

I’m sure there are many more ways for me to punish myself and drive my health, career, and sanity into the ground. Alcohol is just the first step on my journey to ruin.

At least she’s safe.

That’s what I’ve been telling myself since the cops called to update me on the welfare check this morning.

I don’t know how my baby’s doing, seeing as we haven’t spoken since she left the beach house, but one of the officers who stopped by her dorm said she seemed fine.

Fine. I hate that word.

It’s a stupid fucking word that’s open to interpretation.

Is she fine in the sense that she’s doing okay or fine in the sense that she’s miserable but not so miserable that she’d do something stupid?

In case it wasn’t clear, I’m losing my fucking mind.

The universe must agree because the next thing I know, my publicist’s bursting through my bedroom door without knocking, parking herself at the end of my bed and shrieking, “What in the ever-loving fuck were you thinking?”

“Here we go,” I drawl, rolling onto my back and rubbing my eyes.

“It’s all over the internet!” Drea continues, stomping over to the side of my bed and ripping the blanket off my body. “Do you have any idea how bad this makes you look?”

I don’t even bat an eye, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. “I’m guessing really bad?”

“Just weeks before the trial, to make it worse. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to make my job harder?” She shoves her phone into my face, the headline and subhead displayed on her screen leaving me unfazed.

Kane Wilder gets drunk and assaults paparazzi unprovoked.

So much for sobriety!

I snort at the picture they attached below. Not only can you see me death-staring the dude who talked about my mom, but you can also see his face and the fear in his eyes. Bastard looks like he’s about to shit his pants.

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