I snort. "Definitely not. I need to get drunk."
"Ah,” he laughs, “well that I can do."
"I'll pick you up in ten minutes. Try not to dress like a pikey," I say on a grin before hanging up the phone.
* * *
Kyan trips goingup the stairs, staggering sideways and smacking into the wall with a loud thump. I snort loudly, slamming my hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle.
“Fuck!” he says.
“Shhh,” I hiss. “I swear to god, wake Patrick up and Poppy will eat you alive,” I whisper-shout.
He turns around, swaying in the stairway as he closes one eye and squints at me. “What?”
I throw my hands up in the air and accidentally launch my shoes over the railing.“Aw, fuck.” I groan loudly. “Fuck it, I’m not going back down." God knows it’s taken me ten minutes to make it this far. I can barely see and I swear the stairs are moving.
I walk up the next few steps and shove his arse, pushing him up the next step. He crawls up the stairs and we eventually make it to my apartment. As soon as I close the door, Kyan is in front of me with a stupid grin on his face. “Hey ginge,” he says. I think it’s supposed to be seductive, but he sounds like a class A creeper.
I frown when he moves close and I think he’s trying to kiss me. I slowly duck to the side and he head-butts the wall. “Ah, fuck!” he curses.
I snort a laugh. “That’s what you get you AIDS-y fuck.”
“Mean, so fucking mean.” He clutches his forehead as he wobbles to the sofa. “I’d make you feel so good, treacle.”
I place my hand on the wall for support as I go to my room. “Yeah, I hear crabs feel real fucking good.”
“I donothave crabs,” he says, flopping back on the sofa and throwing an arm over his face.
“Yeah, alright Sebastian.”
“What?”
“Dear god, watch Disney, you uncultured fucker.” I try and point towards the DVDs but fuck, the room is spinning.
Kyan doesn’t reply. He’s probably passed out. I go into my room and flop down on the bed. I’m drifting into unconsciousness when my boob starts vibrating. Frowning, I lift my head and dig in my bra, pulling out my phone.
I swipe the screen, squinting against the bright backlight.
"Hello," I croak.
"Hope." The sound of his voice makes my heart race and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up even as heat unfurls throughout my body.My head instantly clears, all traces of my alcoholic haze diminishing.
"Silas," I whisper, his name getting stuck in my throat.
"I need you," he slurs. His voice breaks on the words. He's drunk. I squeeze my eyes shut and press my lips together as I pull the phone away from my ear and clutch it in both hands. I should hang up. I should always hang up when he calls, but he's like my chosen brand of heroin. He's nothing but pain and heartache and he leaves me a trembling, broken mess every time I give in to my twisted addiction, but the high—fuck. He's like no one else. I press the phone to my ear again, fully aware of the drill.
"What do you want?" I ask.
Hisheavybreaths blow across the line. "I'm so fucking lost without you,baby."
My heart clenches. God, if I could rip the treacherous thing out of my chest I would. It will always trip over itself for him though. He's my first love. My first kiss, the first guy I ever slept with, and the first guy to break my heart. No, he didn't break my heart, he pulverised it, shattered it and ground it into dust and yet, here I am: barely able to breathe at the sound of his voice. That familiar mixture of longing and crippling hurt swirls through my chest and I feel like that pathetic, heartbroken teenager that he managed toepicallyfuck over all those years ago.
"You're fine, Silas. You're just drunk."
"No. No." There's a pause. "I'm never fine without you." I can picture him sat in his apartment in Dublin, dragging his hand through his black hair, clenching his fists over and over the same way he always does when he's having a moment like this. My pitiful heart loves to think that he means what he says, that he really needs me. But tomorrow he'll sober up, he'll pull his shit together and then I won't hear from him for months, until the next time he feels like his life is spiralling out of control. Then he'll call me, and I'll tell myself not to answer, but I always will. As a woman, I always want to be strong, to tell him to go fuck himself.Anyother guy and I would, but he is my exception, the gaping hole in my chest that can never be filled.
"Silas, it's late.You're drunk. Go and sleep it off. In the morning, you'll forget we even spoke." It's the painful truth.
