Page 30 of Only When We Fall
Me: Truth 4. Everyone thinks I have it all figured out. Cool guy, big laughs, easy charm. But I don’t even know who I am outside of people’s expectations. You’re the only person who’s ever looked past that and encouraged me to be myself. Thank you, Em.
I stare at the message waiting for it to be read, but it stays unread, and I toss the phone down again, sighing. I have this whole plan to be better for her, but so far, I’m failing.
I don’t know how long I lie there, watching the shadow of the ceiling fan cut across the plaster. The silence is loud. Every part of me wants to believe this will pass, that seeing her with him won’t matter tomorrow.
But it does. It fuckingkills.
I sit up too fast, running a hand through my hair. I can’t stay here. Not in this house, not in my head. I shove on the first hoodie I find and grab my keys. I have no plan on where to go; I just need to move.
The bar’s packed. Drunken bodies are pressed together as the music thumps so loud it vibrates in my chest.
I drain another shot and slam the glass down on the bar. The guy next to me shouts something in my ear. I don’t hear it. I don’t even care enough to ask him to repeat it, but when he slams another shot down for me, I slap him on the back in thanks.
The tequila burns less this time.
I stare into the bottom of the next drink looking for answers I won’t find. It reflects some distorted version of me. My eyes a little bloodshot, my jaw tight, and my smile nowhere in sight.
She’s with him.
That’s the phrase that loops over and over in my head like a curse. She’s with him. Shechoseto go out with him. Sat across from him in a place that practically screamed “date night”, and smiled happily.
I rub a hand over my face, trying to shake the thought, but it clings to me. It was easier to put her from my mind when I had no idea where she was.
I pull out my phone again. Still no reply; my message still unread. The screen glows harsh in the dim light. I type out a message.
Me:Do you think about me at all?
My thumb hovers over the send button, but then I delete it. What’s the point? She’s not mine to ask questions anymore.
Someone bumps into me from behind, nearly knocking the drink from my hand, and as I look up, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored shelf behind the bar. I don’t like the guy looking back at me.
“Another,” I say, pushing my glass toward the bartender.
He raises a brow. “Sure you’re good, man?”
No. Not even close. But I nod anyway. “Yeah. Keep ’em coming.”
Because if she’s with someone else, what else is there to do but drink until I forget her smile?
Until I forget her altogether.
I’m on my sixth drink. Or maybe seventh. I stopped keeping track when the edge dulled enough to breathe without choking on it.
The music shifts, and the dancefloor surges. I should go home, but there’s no peace waiting for me there, only the ghost of a girlwho won’t text back, and a bed that’s too cold even when I’m burning inside.
I push away from the bar, needing to move. Needing air. But as I shoulder through the crowd, something makes me stop. Across the room, in a booth tucked near the back, I spot him.
Landon.
He’s leaning against the seat, relaxed. But that isn’t what stops me in my tracks. His hand is resting on the thigh of a girl in a leather skirt. And she’s not Emmie. Not even close.
I freeze.
He laughs at something she says and then they kiss as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it would be, if he wasn’t on a date just a few hours ago with Emmie.
I stand there, heart thudding in my chest, trying to punch its way out.
What the fuck?
