17. Liam
17
LIAM
I wake up feeling groggy.
The insistent throbbing behind my eyes feels like a relentless drumbeat, each pulse echoing the dull ache in my head.
I crack open one eye, greeted by the harsh glare of sunlight filtering through the blinds. A groan escapes my lips as I roll over, the sheets tangled around me like unwelcome restraints.
The bedside clock says the time is 8:05. That means I’ve slept for a whole twenty-eight minutes. The weariness of the restless night clings to me like a heavy fog. For days now, sleep has been a rare commodity, stolen away by thoughts of Emma that refuse to let me rest. Even in my dreams, she’s there, in an endless collage of her laughter, her smile, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she's truly amused.
Every time I wake up, it feels like I’m being ripped away from a fantastical world, only to be plunged back into the harsh reality of my self-imposed exile.
It makes getting over her fucking impossible. Emma Cole is driving me mad without even being present.
I roll out of bed before I pad to the bathroom, flicking on the light. The bright lights hit my eyes, showing me my image in the full-length mirror. I wince at my reflection. Red-rimmed eyes, hair sticking out at odd angles, sunken cheeks—it’s looks like someone suffering withdrawal symptoms from an addictive drug. I'm a mess, like a man on the verge of collapse,
A knock on the door interrupts my self-pity. “Liam, breakfast is ready,” my dad calls out. “Join me downstairs before it gets cold.”
“Coming,” I mumble, splashing cold water on my face in a feeble attempt to wake up. It doesn't help much, but I make my way to the kitchen, anyway.
Dad is already seated, sipping his coffee. He looks up as I enter and raises an eyebrow. “Another rough night?”
“Something like that.” I shrug, grabbing a mug and pouring myself a generous helping of coffee. The bitter liquid jolts my senses awake, momentarily pushing away the fog in my head. I take a seat across from him.
He eyes me knowingly. “You look like hell, son. Why don't you just go and settle things with her?”
I frown, poking at the scrambled eggs on my plate. “I'm not fighting with Emma. There's nothing to settle.”
He lets out a short laugh. “I'm not a fool, Liam. Anyone with eyes can see something's going on.”
I shake my head, refusing to meet his gaze. “It's complicated.”
“It always is,” he replies. “But you're more at risk of collapsing than I am. You've been working those long twenty-hour shifts with no sleep for the past two days trying to keep your mind off her. That's not sustainable.”
“I'm fine,” I insist, though my voice lacks conviction.
“Sure, you are,” he bites out sarcastically, not buying it for a second. “Look, stay off the hospital for now. I'll handle the schedule.”
“Dad, I can't?—“
He cuts me off. “You can, and you will. I know you too well, Liam. Regardless of what's going on, you need rest.
I stand up and open my mouth to argue, but the room suddenly tilts at an alarming angle, and I stumble back, bracing myself against the counter to avoid falling. My father is beside me in an instant, a worried frown etched on his face.
“See?” Dad mumbles, his tone softening. “You're about to keel over. Looks like you need that rest more than you think.”
I sigh, settling back into the seat silently.
“Drink this.” He hands me a flask. “It's a tea that will help you sleep.”
I take it reluctantly, mumbling a thank you. I sip from the flask and feel its warmth spread through me, slightly easing the tension in my body. I stand up slowly, careful not to wobble this time. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Go on, get some rest,” he says, waving me off.
I make my way back upstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. Once I’m back in my room, I collapse onto the bed, hoping the tea will do its job quickly. But as I lie there, my mind is still a whirlpool of thoughts, all centered around Emma. Does she hate me now? Has my distance hurt her more than I intended?
I close my eyes, trying to banish the images of her that flash through my mind. Her laughter, her smile, the way she looks at me with those piercing eyes that seem to see right through my defenses. I can’t keep doing this to myself, yet I can't seem to stop. The pull she has on me is too strong, and every attempt to distance myself only leaves me more entangled in my feelings for her.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I glance at it with a sigh. Another message from the hospital. I ignore it, knowing Dad is right—I need to rest. But rest doesn’t come easy when my heart and mind are at war. I replay our last conversation in my head, wondering if there was something I missed, some sign that I should have picked up on.
I roll onto my side, staring at the wall. Sleep is an elusive beast, but as the seconds tick by, I feel the exhaustion gradually overcome me, and I drift off into a fitful slumber, Emma's face still haunting my thoughts.
When I wake up again, it’s late afternoon. The tea did its job, and I suddenly feel fresh and ready to take on the world. I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes and stretching out the stiffness from my body. The house is quiet, a stark contrast to the turmoil in my head.
I head downstairs, finding Dad in the living room reading a book. He looks up as I enter, a small smile on his face. “Feeling any better?”
“Yeah, a lot,” I admit, sitting down across from him.
“Good,” he says. “You needed it.”
I nod, not knowing what else to say. The silence stretches between us, comfortable yet charged with unspoken words. Finally, I break it. “Dad?—“
“No work, if that’s what you’re trying to talk about.” He raises an eyebrow, setting his book aside.
I shrug, feeling a little foolish. “But there’s nothing else for me to do.”
“Go have fun. Spend time with your friend. You’re his best man, and you haven’t even seen him for the past three days. Go meet him, and at least then you and your girlfriend will have no choice but to be adults and settle whatever this is.”
My cheeks burn with a mixture of anger and shame. “There's nothing to settle, Dad,” I mutter, avoiding his gaze.
He leans back in his chair, a sigh escaping his lips. “Look, son,” he says, his voice softening, “if you're fighting with Emma, just go and talk to her. Don't be stubborn about it.”
“There's no fight, Dad,” I insist, frustration creeping into my voice. “We're… We're just taking a break from everything.”
“A break, huh?” he says, one eyebrow raised skeptically. “Because from where I'm sitting, it looks a whole lot like you're running away.” He studies me for a moment, then leans back in his chair. “Love isn’t always clear-cut, Liam. It's messy and complicated, and sometimes it hits you when you least expect it. But you'll know because it will scare the hell out of you and make you feel more alive than anything else.”
The truth, raw and unpalatable, hangs heavy in the air. Am I scared? Am I running? Maybe. From myself, from the fear of getting hurt again, from the overwhelming pull I felt toward Emma, a pull that threatens to shatter the carefully constructed walls I'd built around my heart.
Do I love her? No, I shake my head. I’m incapable of that. I’d ensured it. I’m never one to feel flimsy emotions like that.
My dad is still staring straight at me. “Take forty-eight hours, clear your head. Then, when you're thinking straight, you can figure out what you want to do.”
I let his words sink in, my thoughts immediately drifting to Emma.
“Thanks, Dad,” I mumble quietly.
“Anytime, son,” he replies, picking up his book again.
I make my way back up the stairs. What the hell am I going to do for forty-eight hours? I might as well give in and call her now.
I grab my phone, my thumb hovering over Emma’s name. My mind races, trying to find the right words to break this silence, to bridge the gap I’ve created. But as I stare at her name on the screen, doubt creeps in.
I drop the phone onto my bed with a frustrated sigh and start pacing my bedroom floor, racking my brain for ways to kill time during this compulsory break Dad imposed on me.
I glance around my room, noting the clutter of medical journals and unfinished paperwork. Usually, these would be my refuge, but today, they feel like a prison. I need a distraction, something that will keep me from obsessing over Emma and the mess I’ve made of things.
My phone buzzes, breaking my train of thought. I pick it up and see Damon’s name flashing on the screen.
“Hey, man,” I answer, hoping my voice doesn’t betray my internal chaos.
“Liam! Just the guy I wanted to talk to. What are you up to tonight?” Damon’s voice is upbeat, the kind of carefree energy I desperately need right now.
“Not much. Got the night off, actually. What’s up?”
“Perfect timing! How about we hit up that new club downtown? I’ve heard it’s pretty wild, and I could use a good night out. What do you say?”
A night out. It’s exactly what I need. “Yeah, sounds good. What time?”
“Around ten. You can come over, right? Or do you need me to pick you up?”
“I’ll find my way.”
“Okay great.” I can hear the grin in his voice. “See you then.”
I hang up, feeling a small surge of relief. At least for a few hours, I can distract myself from the turmoil inside me.
I rummage through my closet, looking for something decent to wear. It’s been a while since I’ve been out like this, and the idea of a night of mindless fun is strangely appealing. I settle on a pair of dark jeans and a black shirt, something simple but presentable. I run a hand through my hair, trying to tame it into something less chaotic.
When I head downstairs, Dad is in the living room, engrossed in the evening news. He looks up as I enter, raising an eyebrow at my change of attire. “Going out?”
“Yeah, Damon invited me to a new club downtown. Thought it might be good to get out for a bit,” I explain, grabbing my jacket from the hook by the door.
He nods approvingly. “Good idea. Have some fun, you need it.”
“I will. Thanks, Dad.”
I’m feeling a bit lighter already.
Tonight, drowning the mess in my head in loud music in the company of strangers is a start to surviving the long scary hours of nothingness that my dad has suggested.
Tonight, I won’t think of what happens next, just focus on the now.