Page 34 of At My Worst

“What are you doing?” I ask her through gritted teeth.

“Trying to forget,” she says in a distant, cold voice.

“How is that going for you?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.

“Ask me again after this drink, and I will let you know,” she says as she takes another drink.

“Don’t do that,” I warn her.

She is shutting me out again and is trying to push me away, but it isn’t going to happen. She doesn’t fucking understand that I am completely in love with her, obsessed with her in the most unhealthy fucking way. I am a stubborn motherfucker, and if she wants to fight, we will fight, but I won’t fucking walk away. I won’t let her do this.

“What? What am I doing, Alexander?”

“Pushing me away,” I say, watching her take another sip.

“It is what I do best, you know,” she says with sadness and confidence, her eyes locked with mine.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I ask, feeling the rage starting to build in me. I have never been good at regulating my emotions. It is still a work in progress. I am still a work in progress.

“I’m not good for you. The best thing for the both of us is to go our separate ways before we both get hurt,” she says, trying to convince me.

“Yeah, that is not going to happen.”

“Fine, I will be the one to walk away. After all, I am getting pretty fucking good at it,” she says.

It is not a dig toward me but herself, making my heart ache with how she sees herself right now. What she is seeing is not what I see when I look at her, not even fucking close.

She gulps down the rest of her drink, stands up, and looks at me for a moment. When I look into her eyes, I see her pain, guilt, and shame staring back at me. Her eyes tear up, and then she turns and walks back through the crowd.

Fuck, no.

I quickly walk around the bar and through the people. We are closing soon anyway. Josh can handle it. I have to fucking handle whatever the fuck this is. Bianca pushes the tavern doors open and turns left towards the beach.

“Bianca!” I yell after her, but she keeps walking.

I take off in a sprint, grabbing her arm and forcing her to stop next to the picnic table.

I force her to turn around. “What is wrong?” I ask her, needing to fix whatever the fuck is making her like this, but I can’t fix something if I don’t know what needs to be fixed.

“Everything,” she confesses in a defeated voice.

“Talk to me,” I plead.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Alexander,” she snaps my name in a warning tone. The tone she uses with me when I am pushing at something she feels uncomfortable with.

“Stop it.”

She rips her arm from my hold and sits on the edge of the table. She lowers her head and takes a deep breath as I walk into her.

“Bianca, please talk to me,” I beg.

She lifts her head and searches my eyes for a moment. “I am fucked up, okay? I don’t know what to do or say or what the fuck I am feeling. I can’t do anything right. I am just a fucked up person, Alexander. And you know what?” She yells at me.

“What?” I ask.

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