Page 107 of Imperfect Player

Everly backs away from the doorway. With her out of sight, I feel like I can breathe again.

She knows the truth about me and how I cope with the demons in my head and for some unknown reason she’s still here. That terrifies me more than anything.

My hands grip the edge of the sink as I take a deep breath in then exhale. I repeat the motion a few more times as I try to figure out how in the fuck to handle this. Even more, how to get rid of her.

“Ethan? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” I reply as I emerge from the bathroom.

“Do you want to talk about last night?” she asks.

Is that a fucking joke? Do I want to talk about it? Fuck no, I don’t. I want to forget it ever happened. I want to return to the moment where she had no clue what a disaster I am.

“No.”

“Ethan, I think you need help.”

“You think? What gave it away?”

“Don’t be a jerk.”

“Don’t pry. Just let it be.”

“I can’t. I can’t just sit by and—”

“Then don’t.” I extend my arm, hand pointed at the door. “There’s the fucking door, use it.”

Internally, there’s a battle between my head that wants her to leave and my heart that needs her to stay. What a roller coaster of emotions.

“I got why you tried to push me away last night, but why are you doing it now? Don’t you see—”

“All I see is you, not leaving.”

“You need help, Ethan.”

“I’m beyond help, Everly.”

“That’s not true.”

“Either you accept me the way I am or get the fuck out. It’s your choice.”

“Is this a test? Hmm? Are you trying to see if I’m like the rest of them? Because I’m not. I’m not leaving. I won’t stop caring. I will stand by you every step of the way.”

Willing to put it to the test, I go to the kitchen and pull open a cabinet. Bottles of whiskey line the shelf.

“You don’t need those bottles.”

“What I do is none of your business. You’re going to stand by me no matter what, right?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Then what do you want, Everly? Why are you trying to stop me?” I’m shouting at her. Emotions run through me that I can’t control because I don’t have the one thing that keeps them in check—a drink. Alcohol.

“I want to be your bottle. I want to be what you run to instead of this.” She holds up the bottle in the air, then smashes it on the ground. “Be with me, Ethan. Not with it.”

“You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

“Maybe. But I found my heart. With you.”

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