Page 72 of Heartless Boss
Once I’m outside, I call an Uber and wait next to his black mailbox. Raindrops fall freely from the sky, soaking my hair and clothes. I hope it can absorb the pain in my chest that Gunner left there.
Gunner might be a lot of things, but he was right about one thing. If a sheep keeps playing with the wolf they’re bound to be eaten. Not only have I allowed myself to get bitten by him a few times, I let him eat me alive.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gunner
Hitting rock bottom is as lovely as shoving my dick in a blender.
As soon as Gia leaves, I drop Cora off at Alana’s house, then come back home to drown myself in sorrow with a bottle of tequila.
Alcohol is a nasty addiction that makes me feel like I’m on top of the world, but when I’m sober, I feel like my face slammed into a concrete wall seven million times. I used to think love was poison; I was as wrong as two left shoes. Heartbreak is a poison that kills you slowly and softly.
For three weeks, I call Gia repeatedly, filling her voicemail.
Please, come home.
I miss you.
You made me feel things I’ve never felt before.
We’re not really broken up, you just said that because you’re mad.
I still watch television shows on Tuesdays and Saturdays like we did when we were together. I just finished the showHow I Met Your Mother.
One day, I will be like Ted and tell our kids how I met you. Except I won’t be asking them for permission to date Aunt Robin. You’re my one and only.
Eventually, her voicemail is full and I can’t leave any more.
When I get tired of smelling my own ass, I undress, hop in the shower, and scrub my skin raw. My ma always told me if I sit in shit long enough, I’ll stop smelling it and she wasn’t wrong. So I need to get myself out of my own shit and stop having a fucking pity party.
I need to come clean to myself and my family about my alcoholism and take the final steps to recovery. I don’t have to be a victim of my past or my PTSD, and if I don’t get the help I can now, I’m going to drink myself into an early grave. I have too much to live for; I have a girl and family who love me.
After I turn off the scorching-hot water, I jump out of the shower. I wrap a towel around my waist, rest my palm on the cold black granite counter, and stare at myself in the mirror. Long and hard.
I don’t like the man who’s staring back at me. That’s why I never look at my reflection. Ma always told me if you can’t look at yourself in the mirror without feeling ashamed then you need to change the way you are to be the person you’re proud of. And this is not the man she raised. She raised someone to be strong and take care of people and love fiercely. I don’t know who the hell the person I’m staring at is. I feel like a fucking stranger in my own skin.
After I go to the bedroom, I change into a black cotton shirt and gray sweatpants. Then I head to the kitchen and pour every bottle of liquor down the drain. It hurts like hell to watch my poison be thrown away. But I have to get my ass in gear and get serious about my sobriety. So, I head upstairs to my bedroom, grab my phone from my nightstand, and dial the number to a rehab Hannah recommended. Then I call Ma and Alana and ask them to meet me at my house in an hour.
* * *
“I’m an alcoholic,” I say as four pairs of eyes stare at me while I stand in front of the entertainment center. They are all so quiet I can hear a pin drop. “That’s why Gia dumped my sorry ass.” I rub the back of my neck. “And I’m going to rehab for three months.” I hired a guy named Connor to run my bank until I come back.
Everyone starts firing off questions like a machine gun before my ma starts to cry hysterically.
“How long have you been drinking?” Ma asks, wiping her tears with the back of her hand and looking to Herold as if he has answers.
“Since I was sixteen, but it got worse over the last year.”
“Did you know about this?” Alana asks Darien as she punches him in the arm.
“No, because I would’ve dropped his ass off at a rehab center myself.” He folds his arms across his chest. “That’s probably why he didn’t tell me.” He shoots me a stern look. He’s right, I knew that was what he would have done.
“Cora is going to stay with you,” I tell Alana.
“Sure,” she says. I need to let her know that I’m leaving for a while, so I shout her name for her to come downstairs and several minutes later she appears in the living room.
“What? Tuxedo?” She props herself on the couch next to Alana.
