Page 16 of Forbidden Romeo

Very quickly, the pain receded and a glorious dulled sense of life mucked up my brain.

I looked up at my reflection in the glass door of the cabinet, blinking at the sight.

I was turning into her.

Downing shots alone in my dark home to avoid feeling…

Well, feeling anything.

I was her. I’d turned into the one and only thing I hated about my mother.

But at least I wasn’t turning into him. I can live with becoming my mother. But my father? I would sooner die.

Suddenly, the burning in my throat was nothing compared to the burning behind my eyes.

“Fuck!”

I slammed my fist into the cabinet door, glass spraying the floor around my feet.

The sharp and acrid smell of blood filled the air and I looked down, watching the red lines drip off my knuckles and mix with the spilled tequila like a watercolor painting.

The condo suddenly felt suffocating. I needed to get out, to do something to distract myself. Grabbing my keys, I left the empty bottles on the table and headed for the door. Maybe I'd go for a long drive, anything to outrun the grief threatening to consume me.

I stumbled out of the Uber onto Main Street. The tequila was already hitting me as I squinted up at the lit sign on the front of the bar reading Mulsey’s.

Even though I hadn’t texted Duncan, I knew the guys would be here. On Sundays, students drank for half price… it was impossible for college kids to resist. And even though me and my friends didn’t usually need to clip coupons to afford a night out, we tended to follow where the college aged girls went…

And most of them were here on Sunday nights.

I slid inside and immediately spotted Duncan and Jake at the bar.

The bar was crowded and noisy, filled with shouting college kids getting an early start on the night's revelries, despite it being a school night. I made my way through the sea of people, shouldering past sorority girls in tight dresses dancing on guys who could barely do the drunken college shuffle to the beat of the music.

Duncan saw me first as I dropped into the empty stool beside him. His eyes went wide with concern as he glanced me over with a slow gaze. But he knew better than to say a goddamn word. Instead, he gestured at the bartender for another beer.

Jake, on the other hand, didn’t know better. “Dude… what the hell happened to you?”

I just shook my head, not wanting to get into it. The tequila was hitting me hard and the edges of the room were starting to blur.

I must have looked like hell—face splotchy, eyes bloodshot, my knuckles shredded and bloody.

"Rough night, huh?" Jake said, not dropping it.

Duncan on the other hand, simply nudged a fresh pint of beer towards me. I lifted it to my mouth and drank half in one gulp, wincing as the alcohol burned my raw throat.

"Yeah, rough night," I muttered, gesturing to the bartender for a shot of tequila. “Rough night. Rough month. Rough year.”

The bartender raised his eyebrows at my busted hand but poured the shot without comment. I downed it in one gulp, relishing the burn.

"Dude, what happened to your hand?" Jake asked.

I shook my head. "“My fucking mom died, that’s what happened to my hand. Got any other questions, asshole?”

“Dude,” Duncan said, his tone softer than usual.

I couldn’t look up to meet his gaze. Instead, I pretended to find the wood grain of the greasy bar fascinating. “I'm fine."

I wasn't fine. The booze and bar noise weren't enough to mute the pain.