Page 114 of Closer

Just like always.

I grab the whiskey glass, the amber liquid swirling like a vortex, pulling me in, like her eyes. Those damn beautiful eyes that strip me bare and leave me exposed.

I down the shot in one gulp, relishing the burn as it slides down my throat. It’s a welcome distraction from the tightness that’s been there since she walked out that door.

I pour another, the bottle clinking against the glass. The sound echoes in the empty room, mocking me. This is what I’ve been reduced to. Drinking alone in the dark, trying to numb the pain of losing her. Again.

I should be used to it by now. It’s not like this is the first time she’s run from me. From us.

But it never gets easier. Never hurts less.

That’s what I get for doing it to her.

I focus on the glass, at the way the light catches the edges, fracturing and refracting. It’s like looking into a kaleidoscope of memories, each one more painful than the last.

The first time I saw her, shy smiles and a punch that had me staggering. The first time I kissed her, soft and sweet. The first time I held her, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces.

And the last time. The way she—

Something’s different.

My eyes snap to the neatly stacked papers on the table.

Usually, they’re scattered everywhere.

I pick up the documents and skim through them. Amidst the familiar scrawl of my own handwriting, a new set of notes catches my attention. Neat, precise lines dance across the pages, a stark contrast to my hurried scribbles.

This is…

My eyebrows lift, and I take in the detailed analysis, the insightful comments.

Damn. She’s good. Really good.

No wonder her uncle was so keen on her working for his company. These aren’t surface-level observations. She’s dug deep, found connections I hadn’t even considered.

I shuffle through more pages, each one revealing a new facet. The level of detail is staggering, the depth of understanding unparalleled. It’s like seeing my own work through a magnifying glass, every strength and weakness laid bare.

I relax on the sofa, a low whistle escaping my lips. I knew she was smart, but this? This is next level.

She’s brilliant. Absolutely fucking brilliant. The way she’s broken down the complexities of the deal, anticipated potential pitfalls… it’s mind-blowing.

My gaze drifts to the closed door, and my chest tightens.

I toss the papers back on the desk, running a hand through my hair. What the hell am I doing? I should be out there, trying to fix this. Trying to make her understand.

But understand what? That I’m an asshole who can’t control himself around her? That I’m so damn desperate for her that I’ll take whatever scraps she’ll give me, even if it means ruining the fragile trust we’ve built?

I push myself off the sofa, gathering the scattered papers into a semblance of order.

I’m a fucking idiot.

I stride out of the office to find her and fix this, but the apartment is quiet, too quiet. No sign of Lil in the living room or kitchen. The dining table is set, the food she prepared earlier still sitting untouched.

My heart sinks.

Mechanically, I start cleaning up, putting away the food, and loading the dishwasher. Each minute that ticks by without her returning twists the knot inside me tighter.

I need to clear my head. I head to the bathroom, cranking the shower as hot as it will go. The water beats down on my skin, but it can’t wash away the tension knotting my shoulders. How can I fix this? Several scenarios play in my mind, each ending worse than the one before.

---