Page 26 of Bitter Beats

Lonely. Apart. An outcast.

I don’t fit in anywhere, and I really don’t belong here.

My stomach growls, and I glance at the pasta takeout container. I’m grateful for the meal but don’t have the appetite to consume it.

Closing my broken laptop, I stand from the barstool and relocate to my bedroom.

How many nights will I lie to myself that tomorrow will be better? How many more days am I going to struggle to get through it?

Checking my bank balance on my phone, my stomach clenches at the amount. One-thousand nine-hundred and seventy-eight dollars. That’s it. That’s all I have to my name. Not enough to settle my late tuition payment, replace the laptop I just ruined, and buy groceries. Not enough to pay actual rent.

Just…not enough.

I heave out a sigh and force myself to take a shower. My phone screen lights up with messages from my friends.

Emily: Hey! Want to grab a drink tonight?

Robyn: Kenny!!! Miss you! Drinks?

Allegra: How’s everything going? How’s Mav been?

Lia: Hey! Want to pick up a shift on Thursday night?

Jameson: Yo, Kenny. Is all good with Mav? Haven’t heard from him…

Branson: Prof Terrence sent out partner assignments for the clinic next semester. Guess we’re going to be buddies, Mckenna.

Ugh. My stomach churns at the last one. Shaking my head, I ignore the messages and pull on pajamas.

Then, I crawl into bed. Before I turn off the lights, I send off one message. I text Mav.

Me: I’m sorry.

Then, I beg for sleep to come.

Tomorrow will be better. Right?

TEN

MAV

The powdered whitelines are crisp. Tempting.

“Come on, mate,” a guy I vaguely remember but can’t place says, passing me a rolled-up hundred-pound note.

I pause, swaying slightly on my feet. That last round of shots pushed me over the line I swore I wouldn’t cross tonight.

“You’re here!” Flip tosses an arm around my neck, squeezing too damn tight.

Too fucking late; I crossed it.

“I’m here,” I agree, holding out an arm.

“Have some fucking fun,” Flip encourages, lifting his chin to the waiting drugs.

I glance around the party. It’s a sick place, a penthouse in Back Bay that offers a beautiful view of the Charles River. It’s the type of place I dreamed of as a kid. Never thought I’d fucking party in a place like this.

Hell, never thought I’d be worth enough to own a place like this.

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