“I’d let you touch it,” Kenneth chimed in.
Breathe in for five seconds. Breathe out for five. In for five. Out for five.
“Let’s just find your star and write the description,” I said with a forced smile.
I hadn’t had a drink in two days. I thought maybe if I could limit my drinking and still keep a tight rein on my emotions, I could go back to Oaklyn a better man. Instead, over the past two days, I’d been on edge. Snapping at everyone. Poor Donna just gave me looks that said I could be pissy all I wanted, but I better stop taking it out on her.
It wasn’t fair to anyone around.
Maybe I was being just as stubborn as Oaklyn in thinking that I could somehow numb myself to these emotions, even without alcohol, and that would make everything better.6
Earlier in the stock room had proved how futile that thought was. I knew she was in there alone, and I went anyway. A glutton for punishment, knowing nothing good would come of it. I’d still been a selfish bastard and kissed her. I just hated seeing her so hurt. Needed to kiss her pain away, tell her how sorry I was again.
Each day in class she walked in like a zombie, looking as bad as I felt. I hated it. Hated every single thing about all of this. Mostly, I hated how weak I felt. Like I was putting us through this because I was a weak, damaged man. You’d think it would push me to do something about it, but it all felt like a waste. I thought I had done something about it before, and yet there I stood in the middle of a park with two of my students, trying to not just pack up and tell them to stop wasting my time, so I could go home and return to drinking myself to death.
It wasn’t me. I loved teaching. I loved this project and seeing the students’ awe at seeing the stars in a way they never had.
I’d lost that version of myself somewhere in the past few months. Instead, I tapped my thumb on my thigh, impatient for Andrea to finish scribbling some note in her book so we could get the fuck out of here, and I could go home to drink.
“Done!” she proclaimed victoriously.
“Fantastic,” I said, already breaking down the telescope. “You guys can go ahead and leave, and I’ll get this all packed up.”
“Do you need any help, Dr. Pierce?” Andrea said, kneeling down too close beside me to grab a part.
“No,” I snapped, causing her to snatch her hand back like I’d slapped it. “No,” I repeated, gentler this time. “Thank you, but I have everything. It’s late. Go ahead and head home.”
As soon as I got everything in my car, I raced home. I left the case in the car and opened my door, tossing the keys to the table and shrugging off my coat, letting it lie on the floor.
Grabbing a glass, I went to the kitchen to snag the extra bottle of liquor in the top cabinet, having drank everything from my wet bar already. I filled half the glass and drank it in two swallows. I filled it again and thought about Oaklyn. I thought about how soft her lips had felt on mine. How golden her eyes looked when they were glossed over with tears.
I drank the contents of the glass and refilled it.
I thought about how her cheek pressed into my palm, searching for comfort I didn’t know how to give anymore.
I drank again. And refilled again.
I thought about how her cries had echoed off the glass in the stock room, all of it bouncing back to pierce my heart all over again.
I drank again but halted when I went to tip the bottle and fill my glass.
Blood pounded in my ears. My fist gripped the neck of the bottle too tightly. A fire that burned in my stomach rose to my chest, making my lungs singe like they were on fire. Twelve years after therapy. Twelve years after breathing exercises, making myself feel like I was in control of my emotions. Twelve years of feeling like I was finally in control of my actions, burned to the ground, taking me with it.
And not just me. Oaklyn too.
A growl started in the depths of my soul and worked its way up my chest. It came out a rage-filled scream, and I unleashed. I tossed the bottle into the kitchen sink, and to release some of the tension pulling my muscles too tight, I threw the tumbler at the wall, the piercing sound of shattering glass raining down on my hardwood floor finally broke me out of my stupor.
“Fuck,” I shouted, digging my hands into my hair and tugging. “Fuck.”
Over and over, it was all I could think. I was so fucked. This whole situation was fucked. I looked over at the glass on the floor and everything drained from me. I should have cleaned it up. I should have cared. But I didn’t.
I turned away and headed upstairs to hopefully pass out and not dream of Oaklyn and what a mess my life was falling back into.
chapterthirty-one
Callum
Two weeksafter ending it with Oaklyn, I was still drinking too much, trying to figure out if it was better or worse without her. Better for her, at least, because I couldn’t take my temperamental moods out on her.
