Page 18 of Giving Chase

But then I hear it. Eliza's voice, muffled through the door but unmistakable.

"Chase? Are you in there? I... I wanted to talk about earlier."

Fuck.

I freeze, my blood turning to ice. For a moment, I consider not answering, pretending I'm not here. But I know Eliza. She won't give up that easily.

"Just a second!" I call out, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.

I turn to the blonde – Kristy, I suddenly remember – who's looking confused and annoyed. "You need to hide," I hiss, gesturing towards the bathroom.

"Are you kidding me?" she huffs, but complies when she sees the panic in my eyes.

I scramble to pull on my jeans and t-shirt, running a hand through my disheveled hair in a futile attempt to look presentable. Taking a deep breath, I open the door.

Eliza stands there, looking breathtakingly beautiful and incredibly vulnerable. My heart clenches at the sight of her.

"Hey," I say, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. "What's up?"

Eliza's eyes narrow, taking in my disheveled appearance, the open bottle on the nightstand, the lingering scent of perfume in the air. I see the moment suspicion dawns in her eyes, but before she can say anything, a loud sneeze echoes from the bathroom.

Eliza's face falls, hurt and disappointment clouding her beautiful features. "I see you're busy," she says, her voice cold and laced with pain. "I'll talk to you in the morning."

"Eliza, wait—" I reach for her, but she steps back. This is all fucking wrong.

"Don't," she says, and the pain in her voice cuts through my drunken haze. "Just... don't, Chase. I can't believe I actually thought..." She trails off, shaking her head.

"It's not what you think," I plead, knowing how pathetic I sound.

"Really?" Eliza's laugh is bitter, and I can see her walls going back up – taller this time. "Because I think it's exactly what it looks like. You're drunk, and you've got some groupie hidden in your bathroom. The day you sent me flowers and tried to..." She stops, composing herself. "You know what? It doesn't matter. We're done here."

She turns and walks away, her heels clicking on the hotel's marble floor. I want to go after her, to explain, to beg for forgiveness, but I'm rooted to the spot. And I know any argument I give will be pointless and fall on deaf ears. I’ve just ruined any possibilities between us.

"Is she gone?" Kristy emerges from the bathroom, looking annoyed. "Can we get back to what we were doing?"

I look at her, feeling suddenly sober and incredibly tired. "You should go," I say quietly.

"Are you serious?" she scoffs. "You're choosing her? She doesn't even want you."

Her words hit too close to home. "Just fucking go," I repeat, more forcefully this time.

After Kristy leaves, slamming the door behind her, I sink to the floor, my back against the bed. I reach for the bottle of Jack, and take a long swig, trying to numb the pain etching its way jaggedly through my soul.

I pull out my phone, staring at Eliza's number. I should call her, try to explain. But what would I say? That I was hurt and drunk and stupid? That I didn't mean it? That I'm sorry?

Sorry doesn't begin to fucking cover it.

I throw the phone across the room in frustration, hearing it clatter against the wall. As I bury my face in my hands, the full weight of what just happened crashes down on me.

Eliza came to talk. She wanted to discuss things, maybe even change her mind about us. And I ruined it. I ruined everything.

The irony isn't lost on me. This morning, I sent her flowers and chocolates, wanting to show her how I felt. And now, not even twelve hours later, I've probably destroyed any chance we ever had.

Some Valentine's Day this turned out to be.

As I sit there in the dark, the taste of whiskey and regret bitter on my tongue, I wonder if Eliza will ever forgive me. If I'll ever forgive myself.

Somehow, I doubt it.

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