I was always the good one out of the six of us. I didn’t get in trouble. I stayed on the right side of the law. I was even known for stopping the others from getting into dumb shit.
And now I was the one doing dumb shit. All because I’d lost my rock, my best friend. All because months—fuck, over a year—of spiraling had left me empty and hollow.
I’d been trying to keep it under wraps, but it was all sliding from my pores now. There was no containing the agony I felt anymore. Especially not after what I’d witnessed mere hours ago.
I lifted the bottle to my lips and laid back on the concrete patio, jerking in surprise when I knocked over an empty vodka bottle. It made a loud clang, and the glass cracked as it hit the concrete before rolling away. Grunting, I stared up at the darkening sky. I’d been out here for hours. Didn’t know what damn time it was. Didn’t care.
I didn’t want to care about anything.
I was tired of hurting. Tired of feeling. I just wanted to be fucking numb.
Was it too much to ask to just feel okay for a little while?
I sat up on my elbows and lifted the bottle in my grip to my lips again, draining the rest of it before setting it aside. Laying back down, I closed my eyes and folded my hands on my stomach, my head swimming just a little. Certainly wasn’t enough. Months of drinking alone had built up a tolerance.
I missed the days when alcohol affected me faster.
Even now, when Salem had hurt me so fucking badly, I dreamed of the day he would be mine. I dreamed of him holding me like he used to, back when we were friends and hadn’t ever decided to hook up in the bathroom at a random fucking bar.
I dreamed of a day when I could call him and he’d be there in a heartbeat, no questions asked.
I couldn’t do that anymore. If I called him in need, would he even show up? Or had he finally gotten what he wanted from me a year and a half ago and had decided I wasn’t worth the trouble anymore?
Fuck, that somehow hurt even more.
Why wasn’t I drunk enough yet?
The back door opened and quietly snicked closed. I knew it wasn’t Salem, so I didn’t even bother opening my eyes. Salem moved like a ghost—quiet, unheard, unseen. He’d always been similar to a predator in my eyes. And once upon a time, I’d been safe from his crassness and violence. Had known without a shred of doubt that he’d never hurt me.
I’d been a fucking idiot—obviously.
“Delia called me,” Spike said, taking a seat on the concrete beside me. His thigh pressed against my arm. I sighed and opened my eyes, staring up at the sky again, watching as the stars slowly came to life.
“I ignored her call,” I grunted.
Spike sighed. “I figured. You’re all over social media—without Salem.” I barely resisted flinching at his name. I could only imagine the shit storm that had blown up. “Giselle logged into Salem’s profile and posted a public apology for a fight,” he quietly explained. “They’re doing damage control.”
I sighed. I hated the image we had to put up together—the picture-perfect gay couple, there to give hope to the LGBTQIA+ community. I had no problem supporting that community. I did my best to donate, and I was active in multiple charities. I even had dreams of getting an LGBTQIA+ homeless shelter running one day. But I hated lying. I hated that Salem and I were actually on the outs and only putting up a front for our fans.
I wished we could hate each other in public. Maybe then, I wouldn’t feel so sick to my stomach every time we sang together and forced smiles on our lips and pretended like we were madly in love with each other.
I mean, it wasn’t that hard to fake it on my part. I loved Salem as much as I hated him. But I knew every bit of his front was just that—a front.
Even thinking about it made me sick. I avoided social media as much as possible so I wouldn’t have to see the pictures of us together flooding my fucking feed.
“I’m guessing you two still aren’t talking,” Spike finally concluded.
I shook my head. “Nope.” I popped the P. Okay, I was obviously a little drunk, but not fucking drunk enough. Definitely not drunk enough for this conversation. “Caught him balls deep in some random fucker.” I rolled over onto my hands and knees, the world spinning for a moment before I managed to push to my feet, my legs a little unsteady beneath me. Spike lurched up to help me, but I waved him away, stumbling to the door. “I’m okay,” I told him.
He sighed, a sad look passing over his features. I turned away from him, unable to stomach his pity. “You’re not okay. You haven’t been okay for a while, Tor.”
I shrugged and grinned at him over my shoulder, though I knew it was fake as fuck. Clearly, he could tell because his frown deepened. “I’ll survive,” I told him. “Been surviving this long.”
“Tor—”
I walked inside, shutting the door behind me, cutting off the rest of his words. The world was spinning badly now. Moaning low in my throat, I stumbled to the dining room off to my left, my feet barely working with my brain. I managed to make it to the small dining room table we found at a thrift store when we first got this place, which we still hadn’t moved out of despite our success and despite our promises to do so as soon as we had enough money.
I slumped in the chair, and the moment I put my head on the table, the world went blissfully dark.
