Page 34 of Crazy Love

Anytime I’m hungover I hate myself, but this is the worst one I’ve had in a long time. I’m having to paint walls relentlessly with a headache that no number of painkillers seems to be able to fix. A hangover hits differently when the possibility of drink spiking is involved.

A part of me wants to report it to the police, but I’m still having a hard time believing Nathan did anything that sinister. Maybe the booze just went to my head, or the bartender made my drinks extra strong. Maybe I had more and just can’t remember. Whatever happened, not being able to remember chunks of it is the most frustrating part. That and re-living the moments of me acting like a spoilt brat. And not only last night either, but the days and weeks leading up to today. I loathe how I’ve acted towards Anthony lately. He stopped last night from turning into something much more horrendous. He’s been helping in the studio without me asking. He’s looking out for me.

That I’ve used my own demons as an excuse for drinking too much and acting like an entitled obnoxious brat when I don’t get my own way, is shameful.

Who needs therapy when you can analyse your own behaviour and tear yourself to shreds?

I’ve treated Anthony like crap, and I’ll be lucky if he hasn’t decided to void our bet and steer clear of me. I’d deserve it.

“Hey.”

I stumble backwards from the wall, paint splattering down the front of my raggy old shirt.

Anthony Bonetti is standing silhouetted in the doorway.

19

ANTHONY

“Hey.”

Kali stumbles backwards at the sound of my voice, a paint roller in her hand. I smile at the surprise on her face. She mustn’t have heard me pull up.

I drink in the sight of her. There’s no sign she’s hungover. She’s as stunning as ever. Her hair’s piled on top of her head, locks falling out in random places. Her spandex shorts accentuate her muscular legs. Her old, baggy shirt is covered in flecks of paint, some of which have spilled onto her dark skin.

“How’s it going?” I ask, eyeing the half-painted wall.

Kali follows my gaze and sighs. “You wouldn’t know I’ve been painting for eight hours, would you?”

“Painting is slow, hard work,” I reply. “You’re getting there.Patience, remember?”

I swear Kali shudders as I utter the word.

“Patience. Yep, I’m practicing.” She places the roller carefully into the tray. She dips into her pocket and fishes out the elastics I sent her in the mail, grinning at me sheepishly as she twirls them between her delicate fingers. “Look, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologise. You don’t have anything to apologise for.”

She sighs. “Yeah, I do. I mean putting aside the shitshow that was last night, I’m sorry for my attitude the past few weeks. I’ve been way more highly-strung than I usually am.”

I smile. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” She exhales deeply, like she has a lot to say. “I’ve got some issues, obviously. More than I realised. I’m sorry for acting like a brat. And for slamming the door in your face this morning.”

“What did I just say? You don’t need to apologise-”

“Accept the apology,” she says through gritted teeth.

I smile and nod. “Apology accepted.”

Kali gives me an awkward smile, before crouching down to pour more paint into the tray.

“Last night, you said that you went on the date because Nathan was nice to you. Which he wasn’t, but that’s beside the point.” I crouch down level with her. “Do you really think I’m not nice to you? Because I never meant for anything I’ve said or done to be taken the wrong way.”

“Well, there’s no denying your mood swings are a struggle to keep up with,” she replies, swiftly.

“Mymood swings?”

“Yes!”

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