Page 10 of Bad & Bossy

“You don’t sound like you’ve only had one,” she’d said, her fingers twitching where they clung to the hem of my button-up shirt that she’d put on. It was so large on her — the image of her like that was burned into my mind.

“Shh, don’t worry about it,” I’d grinned. I’d reached out for her, her body within grasping distance, and pulled her toward me. She’d stared at me, concern and irritation coating her features, and god, I wished I’d picked up on it then. I wished I hadn’t taken the gentleness she regarded me with as she placed her hand on my cheek as something it wasn’t. “Fuck, you look so good in my shirt.”

The look of abject disapproval on her face was something that had burned itself into my mind. Even through the buzz of the alcohol, that was what stuck with me the most, what flashed in my mind too many times a day. Of course I couldn’t forget her face. I feared I never would.

"You could have made yourself a coffee, you know?" she finally said.

I knew I had royally fucked up but I tried to keep the mood light-hearted. "It's never too early to pick up where we left off last night. Come on, join me. Hair of the dog, they say." I grinned, hoping she'd see the humor in my suggestion.

Dana raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "I think we've had enough 'dog' for a while, don't you?"

To that I didn't have an answer. All I could do was watch her as she left the kitchen and hurried into the bedroom and, from what I could hear, she was frantically getting dressed and collecting her things. I sat down and rolled the full glass in my hand, staring deeply into the sea of amber.

“I need to go,” she’d breathed when she came back, her eyes wandering to keep herself from looking at me. “I have to get out of here.”

“Why?”

“Don’t. Just don’t, Cole.”

"Then I'll continue the party without you."

In two seconds, she was down the hall and at the front door. "Don't even think about calling me," she yelled out to me, her voice echoing through the apartment.

And the door slammed shut.

The silence that followed was all consuming, enveloping me in a blanket of loneliness.

What happened after that was something I’d gone over multiple times, something that haunted me in the early hours of the morning when I couldn’t fall asleep, something I’d spoken about multiple times just to try to get over it.

I’d downed the nearly full glass, searing my insides with every gulp. I remembered, clear as day, setting it down on the table and placing my open palm over the entirety of the thin rim of it. I used it as leverage to steady my unbalanced frame as I pushed myself up out of the chair.

I remembered it shattering under the weight I placed on it.

What I didn’t remember in the slightest was the pain of the glass slicing into my palm, but the little drops of blood that fell onto the table beneath were clear as day.

————

I stared down at the last empty bottle from my cupboard. I’d ruined so many things that morning, probably said things to her I couldn’t even remember. I’d searched for that feeling I had with her at the bottom of every bottle, in the arms of women I couldn’t even remember the names of, in the sickness in my gut that flared with every drink I had.

It had only gotten worse after that.

Seeing her again had only made the need to make amends with her stronger. From the way she’d looked at me, I knew there wasn’t a single inkling of forgiveness in her bones, but I’d apologize to her somehow. Even if it physically pained me to do it. But would she even accept it? We’d both ghosted each other after that night. I’d been far too ashamed to reach out, and assumedly, she hadn’t wanted to contact me again. I didn’t judge her for it in the slightest. But the idea of apologizing for things that had happened after, the things that had gotten lost in the heavy fog of the drink, felt almost worthless when I didn’t even know what I’d said. All I had left was the feeling of it, the venom in words that would forever evade me.

God, I hated apologies.

A text from Lottie lit up my phone on the counter. I shoved the last bottle into the glass crusher.

You still up? Brody won’t let me sleep.

I swiped down on her name and hit the call button.

The sound of wailing met me before her voice did. “Sorry! Sorry,” she sighed, the wail cutting off with a little coo. “He’s been so goddamn hungry lately I can barely keep up.”

Damn it felt so good to hear her voice. I’d meant to call her earlier—she knew I was coming home—but it had slipped my mind in the transition from plane to work to home to throwing away bottles of ridiculously expensive alcohol. We’d texted frequently while I was away, and even though she was Dana’s friend first and foremost, she was impartial when it came to me. She knew me through her father, Brody, whom she’d named her son after. I think in some way it provided her a last little connection to him.

She also was one of two people who knew where I’d been for the last six months.

“It’s okay.” I couldn’t hide the smile from my voice. The freedom of being able to use my phone however I wanted was hitting me like a fucking freight train. “I don’t mind. Honestly.”

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