The Intimacy of Finding You (The Intimacy Of #2)

Chapter 1

chapter one

The cycle never stopped, and the alcohol never stopped flowing.

A constant stream of numbness to override the pain and disappointment of where I’d ended up.

Some days, I felt a twinge right where my liver was—a warning sign of my body rejecting my very existence.

A warning I never listened to. A warning I ignored because if I didn’t have this comfort, what else did I have?

Who else could I be, if not a sad, pathetic husk in the body of a drunk?

There was nothing for me anymore. Nothing and nobody to look forward to except my next sip.

I didn’t even have a home anymore, since Tyler decided he was tired of my shit.

It only took countless nights of him screaming at me and a few hundred bruises to match, but he’d finally kicked me to the curb. Literally.

At some point, the alcohol stopped making the pain go away, but I’d dealt with it. I’d dealt with it because I had nothing else, and I was still in Crescent fucking Planes, New York, the city of dreams, where being homeless was more often than not a death sentence. Especially during the winter.

Fuck, how disappointed they’d all be in me now, after ten years of silence. Crew and Price probably hated me. Jesse, Liam, and Isaac would probably give me some long speech about running away from my problems. And Callum…

Callum.

A name I refused to even think about anymore.

So, I tilted the shot glass filled with vodka back, letting it coat my raw throat, and hoped it’d warm the chill that’d settled deep in my bones.

“You know we close eventually, right?”

I slammed the glass back on the bar, looking up at the bartender. “Do I look stupid?”

He shrugged, wiping down the surface beside me.

“Never said that, but if the shoe fits. You’ve been here all day, just about.

” His eyebrows furrowed, and I couldn’t help but notice his eyes.

They looked a lot like Callum’s. A mixture of brown and green—a gorgeous hazel color. “Hey, you’re not from here, are you?”

Rolling my eyes, I sighed. I’d only heard that a million times since moving here. “Oh, so you say. What gave it away, huh?”

“Probably the major country twang you’re giving right now, if I had to guess. I bet you get that a lot, huh?”

I pushed my glass toward him, asking for more.

I had the cash for alcohol, just not enough for a place to live, so what was the point of saving it?

It’d all get spent eventually, and I’d never be able to gather enough for an apartment until I got a job.

But getting a job meant having my shit together, and so far, no job has wanted to take me in my current state.

Needed a house to have a job. Needed a job to have a house. Fucking America.

He raised an eyebrow but poured more anyway. I gripped the glass in my hand, swirling it a little. I’d been here all day, yet I felt stone-cold sober. Funny how that worked. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I’m from Arkansas. Bumfuck Nowhere, Arkansas.”

“Is Bumfuck Nowhere, Arkansas the reason why you’re in here drowning yourself in vodka?”

I hummed in response before tilting the glass back. I winced as it went down my throat, a full-body reaction as my liver tried to stop me once more. After a moment of trying not to throw up, I nodded at him. “Sort of. I’ve lived here a long time, though.”

“And you’ve still got that thick of an accent?”

Huffing a laugh, I leaned to the side to grab my wallet. Slamming a few bills onto the counter, I tilted my head. “Used to be worse, actually. I didn’t use to talk much, but I’m surprised anyone ever understood me when I first moved here.”

The bar was mostly empty now. A lot of the patrons had left, drunkenly stumbling their happy asses back to where they belonged.

I wondered how many were going home to a spouse and kids reeking of beer and regret.

How many were slowly destroying everything around them without even a single care in the world because the monster inside of them demanded it.

Just like the monster in me.

The bartender placed his hands on the surface, leaning forward a little. “You look sad.”

An understatement. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not, and this is just my face.”

The music that’d been blasting this whole time finally shut off. “It’s time to go, bud. Will you be coming back?”

“If I have the money and the will to get here.”

“What’s your name?”

I slowly rose from the stool I was sitting on, grabbing my backpack off the floor. “Tobi. Yours?”

He held his hand out for me to shake. “Jack.”

“Well, if the cold doesn’t get me, I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Thankfully, there was a subway station nearby I could go to until morning.

My worn-down backpack didn’t have much in it, but it was all I had.

It was barely held together by a few threads along the straps, and the zipper along the main pocket was bulging and straining against the few clothing items I’d stuffed into it.

It was two in the morning, but the world kept moving.

New York never seemed to sleep. It made sense, though, seeing as it stole the dreams people had for themselves and turned them into nothing more than thoughts and ideas.

We couldn’t have new ones if we never slept.

We couldn’t be disappointed that our old ones never came to life if we didn’t rest long enough to think about it.

Maybe that was where the monster really came from. He wasn’t from my past or my future—he was from my nightmares. The nightmares I couldn’t remember starting, but they never seemed to end. With a big, bushy mustache and the smell of Dubble Bubble Bubblegum on his breath.

His smile was horrifying to think about. It haunted me while I was sleeping. It haunted me while I was awake. But what always felt worse was the memory I had of Crew cleaning me up and tucking me into bed with a worried expression on his young face as he kept repeating the same thing over and over.

“I’m sorry, Tobi. I didn’t know he’d be so mean to you.”

It’s okay, Crew. I was never mad at you. I’d wanted to say. I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry he did this to you. I’d wanted to scream.

Crew hadn’t remembered me when we first met, despite his face having never left my head. His therapist said his brain had blocked the memory out because of all the trauma. I hadn’t been that lucky, and I was the one who’d reminded him of who I was. How stupid of me.

We shared the same monster, he and I. Whereas he had spent the last ten years healing, I’d spent them running. Running through a constant, vicious cycle I didn’t think I could fight anymore. So, I stopped running. I stopped hiding.

I let the monster catch up to me.