Hunter
I stand there, frozen, as Charlie’s words hang in the air between us.
“I still want you in my life. Just…not like this. Not until we both get help. Real help.”
My throat closes. My chest feels like it’s caving in. Every instinct screams at me to argue, to pull him close, to tell him I’ll do better, that I’ll fix myself, that I’ll never push him again.
But I nod.
On autopilot. Like my body is moving without me.
“Okay,” I say, voice hoarse and flat. “Yeah. You’re right. We both need to heal.”
The words taste like ash. I don’t mean them. Not really. I want to fight for him. I want to tell him I’ll go to more meetings, I’ll stop drinking, I’ll do whatever it takes if he’ll just stay.
But I don’t.
Because the last time I didn’t let someone go when they needed to leave…they died.
Robby’s voice is quiet for once, but I can still feel him there—watching, waiting, reminding me what happens when I hold on too tight.
Charlie looks at me for a long moment, eyes glistening, as if he’s waiting for me to say something more. To fight for us. When I don’t, he nods once, small and sad, and turns to walk away.
I watch him go.
The late afternoon light catches in his curls as he moves down the path, shoulders slightly hunched, arms wrapped around himself like he’s holding his own pieces together.
Only after he disappears around the bend does it hit me.
I never told him I loved him too.
The realization slams into me like a freight train. My knees almost buckle. I stand there, alone by the fountain, the sound of water splashing mockingly loud in my ears.
I love him.
I’m in love with him.
And I just let him walk away thinking I didn’t.
Robby’s laugh echoes in my head.
You always ruin the good things, Hunter.
I sink down onto the bench, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.
I’ll never be healed enough for Charlie. I knew it before, and I know it now.
The thought is too heavy. I force myself up to my feet, legs unsteady, the world tilting around me. I want a drink. I need a drink. Anything to drown out the voice, the pain, the emptiness he left behind.
I spend the next week and a half trying to disappear inside a liquor bottle.
The first night, I finish everything I have left and wake up on the floor with the taste of vomit in my mouth and Robby laughing in my head.
The second night, I go out and buy more, cheaper stuff this time, the kind that burns all the way down and makes the room spin faster.
I don’t eat. I don’t shower. I just drink until the world goes black, wake up shaking and sick, and start again.
My phone rings a few times. I don’t answer. The screen lights up with Charlie’s name once, then goes dark. I stare at it until it stops, then take another drink. I’ve missed a few group therapies, that’s probably why he’s calling. Tim tried to call, too.
Robby’s voice is constant now, louder than it’s been in months. Sometimes it’s the exaggerated harshness of the remainder of our relationship, and sometimes it’s the lie I told myself for months, that he loved me until the very end.
I drink until his voice gets fuzzy. Then I drink some more.
By the time Tuesday rolls around, I don’t remember deciding to go to group.
I just find myself stumbling down the alley, the world tilting hard, the bottle still clutched in my hand like a lifeline.
The metal door feels heavier than usual.
I push it open, and the warm lighting of the community room hits me like a spotlight.
Faces turn. Tim’s eyes widen.
Charlie is already there, sitting in his usual duct-taped chair. His face goes white the second he sees me—lips parted in shock.
I sway in the doorway, the bottle dangling from my fingers, and laugh. It sounds ugly even to me.
“Look at that,” I slur, gesturing vaguely at the circle. “The whole happy little family is here. Ready to heal? That’s what we’re all here for, right? Healing.”
Tim stands up slowly, voice calm but firm. “Hunter, you’re drunk. Let’s get you some water and—”
“Water?” I cut him off with a harsh bark of laughter. “Fuck water. I’ve been drinking to drown out my dead ex-boyfriend’s voice in my head. He won’t shut up, Tim. Keeps telling me I’m the reason he’s dead. Keeps reminding me I’m a monster. A bastard who doesn’t deserve to be loved or love anyone.”
The room is dead silent. I can feel every eye on me, but the only one that matters is Charlie’s. He’s staring at me like I’m a stranger.
I laugh again, bitter and broken, swaying harder.
“And then I almost fucked Charlie a week and a half ago and pinned him down like the animal I am. He had a full-blown panic attack because of me. Because I’m exactly what Robby says I am.
I ruin everything I touch. So yeah, I’m here to heal.
Let’s heal, Tim. Tell me how to stop ruining everything I touch. ”
Charlie makes a small, hurt sound. His face crumples.
I hate myself more in that moment than I ever have. I drain the bottle in my hand before letting it fall to the ground. The room spins faster. The floor rushes up to meet me.
I hear someone shout my name, right before everything goes black.
I wake up to the steady beep of machines and the smell of antiseptic.
My head is pounding like someone took a sledgehammer to it. My mouth tastes like death and regret. The lights are too bright, the sheets too stiff. I try to sit up and the room tilts violently.
A familiar voice cuts through the haze.
“Easy there, Hale. You’re not going anywhere.”
I blink hard. One of the guys from the old firehouse—Ramirez, solid, steady Ramirez—is sitting in the chair beside the bed, looking at me with a mix of worry and that same disappointed look he used to give me when I showed up hungover for a shift.
“Ramirez?” My voice comes out sounding like gravel. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You still had Robby’s name as your emergency contact. The hospital called the firehouse when his number was out of service. I was the only one around.”
I close my eyes, the shame burning hotter than the hangover.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Sorry you had to deal with this.”
Ramirez shrugs. “Better me than some stranger. You passed out in the middle of group therapy, man. They said you were blackout drunk. EMS brought you here.”
I don’t say anything. I just stare at the ceiling, the beeping machines filling the silence.
Ramirez sighs. “Look… we all know you’ve been struggling since the fire. Since Robby. But showing up to therapy like that? That’s not you, Hunter. Or at least it wasn’t the guy I used to work with.”
I laugh, bitter. “That guy died with Robby.”
“No. He didn’t.” Ramirez’s voice is quiet but firm. “You’re still here. And you need to get your shit together before you end up like him.”
He stands up, patting my shoulder once. “Get some rest. I’ll be back tomorrow. And Hunter…if you need help, real help, you have my number. We’re still your family. Even after everything.”
He leaves quietly.
The nurse comes in and checks on me shortly after. All I can think about is leaving. I hate hospitals.
“When can I leave?”
“We are going to hold you overnight to get some more fluids into you. The blood alcohol concentration was over .16%. You’re lucky someone was there to call EMS when you blacked out.”
“I’ve blacked out alone before,” I reply without thinking.
Yeah, that’s probably not the best thing to admit to a nurse.
She gives me a long look, then shakes her head. “We’ll talk about that in the morning. For now, try to rest.”
“Has a guy with curly blond hair been here?” I ask before she can leave.
She pauses at the door and shakes her head. “I haven’t seen anyone but the man who just left, and I’ve been here since you arrived.”
Disappointment filters in. “Thanks.”
She nods and then leaves the room, and it goes quiet again except for the machines.
Charlie didn’t come to the hospital. I wonder if he even cares anymore. Not that it matters. I’m sure showing up drunk to group put the final nail in that coffin.
The thought hurts, but no less than I deserve honestly. I close my eyes and let the exhaustion pull me under, hoping that when I wake up tomorrow, the world will feel a little less like something I need to burn down to escape.