Page 61 of Ravaged and Ruined
Hours bleed by. The world narrows to the feel of the bottle against my lips, the sting in my busted hand, Dog’s quiet breathing, and the ghost of her lingering through the clubhouse that’s still too full of her to feel empty. I drift from the bar tothe hallway like a shadow of myself, whiskey soaking through my veins until I can’t feel the weight of her absence.
I lose time. Lose sense. I pace. I drink. I sit and stare at the floor like the answers might carve themselves into the boards. Dog follows me halfway down the hall before giving up, letting out a quiet huff and curling back onto the floor. Smart bastard knows I’m not worth chasing right now.
Somewhere in the haze, I hear her soft laugh. That low, husky kind of laugh she only let out when I said something that pissed her off but made her smile anyway. The sound curls through the hallway like smoke, like she’s waiting for me in her room.
I turn toward her door. I see her for a second, just a glimpse, sitting on the edge of the bed, hair loose, one leg crossed under the other, wearing nothing but my shirt.
"You gonna brood all night, or you gonna come take what's yours?" she asks, smirking.
My heart lurches. But the room’s empty when I step through the door.
The bottle’s in my hand. Half-empty. Then gone. Her scent is still in the air. It’s on the sheets, in the clothes crumpled on the floor. I lower myself onto the bed like a man crawling into a grave, the fabric warm from memory and stained with the past. Her voice echoes in my skull.
"You don’t always have to fix everything. Just hold me."
I try. God do I try. I press my face to her pillow but she’s not here.
And the worst part is, I’m the reason why.
Then everything fades. Darkness takes me.And I let it.
I come to slowly. My skull feels like it’s splitting down the middle. It’s thudding with every heartbeat, like someone’s taking a hammer to the inside of my head. My mouth’s dry, my tongue thick and sour. I don’t even remember lying down. I can’teven say for sure how long I’ve been here. I close my eyes to hide from the emotions warring within me.
The sheets are twisted around my legs, her scent still clinging to the fabric. It punches straight through me.
I roll over, groaning, one arm dangling off the side of the bed. The afternoon sunlight cuts through the blinds, harsh and judgmental. My body feels like it’s been dragged behind a bike for miles.
Her clothes are still on the floor. One of her bras half-buried beneath a shirt I must have dropped when I threw her stuff in a bag. Her boots are still in the corner like she might come back for them. She didn’t really leave. Just enough to break us both.
The whiskey’s a rock in my gut. My limbs ache with something beyond fatigue. This is soul-rot. Slow. Suffocating.
I push myself up, my legs shaky, my palms bracing on the mattress. Guilt thickens in my throat. This room is full of ghosts and I’m the one who put them here.
I stumble into the bathroom and grab the counter with both hands, leaning in. The man in the mirror looks like shit. Hollowed-out eyes. Bruises darkening under them. My jaw is thick with wild, unkempt stubble. My cut is still on, but twisted off one shoulder like I don’t deserve to wear it. I look like a man who lost everything and still won’t admit it. Maybe Surge was right. Maybe they all were. I have to get my shit together before I lose everything that means something to me.
I turn on the tap and splash cold water on my face. It doesn’t help much. I grab the towel off the hook and drag it down my face. Her scent hits me again, her soap clinging to the terry cloth like a whisper against my skin.
Fuck.
I drop the towel and as I bend to pick it up, something catches my eye. A glint of blue and white in the smallwastebasket beside the toilet. Something out of place in a bin full of tissues and cotton swabs.
My gut clenches. My heart stops.Is that what I think it is?
I crouch lower, reaching in with fingers that don’t feel steady anymore. I flip it over in my hand.
Two pink lines stare back at me.
My knees weaken like the floor dropped out from under me. My mouth goes dry again, but this time it’s not from the hangover.
The reality of it slams into me harder than any bullet ever has. My stomach hollows out. My heart hammers so loud I barely hear over it.
She’s pregnant and didn’t tell me. Had she tried or did I not give her the chance?
I told myself I was doing the right thing. That I was protecting her, sparing her from the war I carry on my shoulders. But I left her to carry this alone.
I stagger back, bracing myself against the sink. My heart’s slamming into my ribs. My brain’s spinning too fast to catch a thought. There’s a ringing in my ears like the universe itself is screaming at me.
What the fuck am I doing? She’s having my kid and this is who I choose to become? A hungover and half-alive bastard.
