24 #3
I thought about my upcoming meeting with Rome and my stomach sank.
There was nothing I wanted more than to be clear-headed when I met with him again.
I didn't need this. This was an imposition. How the fuck had I allowed her to manipulate me so easily? I’d been through this song and dance time and time again, but she just refused to let go.
Now I had to be direct. And when I broke her heart for good, I could only hope it wouldn't damage my friendship with her uncle.
"Vi...I can't do this."
"Ok..." she puzzled, brow furrowed. "Do what?"
"I don't even need to say it. You already know. We've been through this before."
"Oh God, you're being overdramatic again, Rafe.”
I fucking hated when people told me I was being dramatic, especially for all the effort I put into repressing my true thoughts day in and day out.
"We barely even did anything and you're alre—"
"You think fucking twice in a row is barely anything?"
"Yeah well...nothing special. Nothing we haven't done before."
"Well, regardless, we can't anymore. I'm done, Vi.
I told you last time, I've got too much going on right now, and I'm not gonna play these games anymore. I won’t allow myself to be guilt-tripped just because I'm a nice guy—" At that, she scoffed.
"I mean, you traipse in here, force me to sleep with you, then get pissed at me when I can't ever commit—"
"I didn't force you to do anything, Rafe.
You folded the second I showed up because you wanted to.
As usual, you're giving me shit immediately after you get off.
So fucking typical. You blame me for everything because it's easier than blaming yourself.
You don't want to admit how lonely and miserable you always are—that's why you're so fucking easy. "
I wanted to drag her from the bed by the ankle and make her hit the floor. Somehow, I refrained.
“Fuck you.”
"You know, Rafe, sometimes I think you care more about being a good friend to Ezra than you’ve ever cared about being a decent boyfriend to me!"
"I was never your boyfriend…" She was momentarily aghast, though recovered quickly. It was the coldest thing I’d ever said. I doubled down to make her pay for the 'easy' comment from earlier. "I never was, and never will be. I told you I was uncomfortable with this whole thing from the start—"
"Fuck you!" she sobbed, jumping up, gathering her clothes, and running stark naked into the bathroom.
“Vi, c’mon…” My hands fell limply at my sides.
I got dressed and waited a few minutes until she emerged, also fully dressed. I felt shitty and needed to apologize, but when I attempted to speak, she flipped me off and stormed from the room.
I followed her downstairs pleading and trying to make it right, but she wouldn't listen. She demanded the car keys from Ezra so she could wait outside, and he obliged. As we watched her go, slamming the front door in her wake, Ezra gave me a look that said: ‘You dickhead.’
***
After they left, neither lending an ear to my countless apologies, I grew irrational and left as well—grabbing what remained of Grimmy's vodka on my way out the door.
The Audi growled down the incline of my driveway and along the sleepy streets of my neighborhood until I was out of Dodge.
I sped unseeingly for several blocks, then jumped onto the highway with a few other night owls.
I flicked on the radio and “I Can't Tell You Why” by the Eagles played. Entrancing me. I slipped into a hypnotic void and forgot myself for a while. Within the next thirty minutes, I was back in BHPO, back on that private leafy avenue, rolling to a halt outside of a familiar address.
It was the only place I felt safe at the moment.
I had zero intentions of returning home and didn't want to book a hotel for what remained of the night.
It was nearly over, thank fuck. I shut the engine off to kill the headlights, popped the vodka open, and necked its contents until my throat blistered and my eyes stung.
Then I let out an anguished hiss, checking my phone.
Grimmy had texted: "You owe me another bottle, bitch." To which I toasted the air and took another pull. It burned twice as bad, but I kept drinking until it felt numb. U2’s “Sweetest Thing” scoring the moment with tender, nostalgic lies.
Now my eyes were bloodshot, but I kept reading in search of something good.
Grimmy sent another text immediately after telling me I should give Violet a chance, since she was way more attractive than the girl I'd slept with in October of last year at his party.
He said he was beginning to think I was vision impaired until he saw Violet tonight.
I sent a middle-finger emoji before keying up an old playlist and shutting my screen off.
A neighbor's bedroom light shut off just as Chris Stapleton's "Tennessee Whiskey" filled the air.
My alienation fostered paranoia and thoughts of death.
It often did. The notion of the world—and especially Rome—being tucked away in bed while I ran the streets like a dissolute fiend made me feel dispossessed.
I drank until the bottle was empty and eventually fell asleep to Ryan Adams' "My Winding Wheel. "