Page 1 of Into the Dark
Five weeks. Thirty-three days, six hours, and twenty minutes, to be exact.
Unless I’ve lost count somewhere between the blackouts. Nights spent scanning the crowd at the club in a drunken haze before passing out on the sofa in my office. Nights spent on my own at home in a drunken haze before passing out on the sofa in front of the TV.
I’ve passed out a lot lately.
It feels like longer than five weeks. Feels like an eternity. Though maybe if I stopped counting every fucking minute it would move faster.
Funny how a whole life can pass you by in almost a flicker, but five weeks wallowing in self-pity feels like years.
I think about the point at which I lost her. The exact moment that light in her eyes turned dark as she looked at me. I think about going back to that moment and saying something else. Doing something else. Except I’d need to go a lot farther back than that to undo all the shit I’ve done. The shit she can’t forgive me for. The shit I told her I wouldn’t undo even if I could.
What the fuck was I thinking? Was that supposed to sound romantic or something? Telling her about how everything led me to her and how we’re meant to be together wasn’t going to change a fucking thing about how she saw it. She’s better than that. Better than me. She did what she had to do.
Fuck me, the loss is suffocating. Maybe because I’ve never had anything worth losing before.
I’m not sure if this is a situation I can apply some pressure and force to—methods I normally use to get my own way. I can’t force her to take me back. To love me again. But I can change myself. I can change the circumstances around me. This deal with her detective will make me scum to everyone but her. But she’s all that matters.
“Daddy, can I watch the Lion King again? Please!” Cale shouts from the rug, way more excited to see a film for the two hundredth time than anyone has a right to be. I feel myself smile at his enthusiasm despite my dark mood.
“Sure, buddy. You remember how to work it?” I haul my arse up from the chair with a groan and grab the iPad from the highest shelf on the wall.
As I bring it over, he nods and pulls the Bluetooth headphones over his tiny head. They’re massive, so I make them smaller while he taps the tablet forcefully with his stubby-nailed forefinger. He’s started biting his nails like I do—another reason I need to stop fucking doing it.
When he’s settled, I wander over and pick up the acoustic guitar. I’ve been practicing more lately, which I guess is one positive to be taken from the pile of shit I left in my wake. I’m not great at it, which means despite what she thought, these hands really aren’t good for anything except destruction.
While my fingers strum away at a familiar-sounding tune, I play it over again. That day. The one that haunts me, burning up my throat and chest until I can’t breathe properly.
Every color, every sound, every word from that perfect mouth of hers. It’s entirely possible she’s moved on already, that the minute I walked out of that house she set about wiping me from memory. Maybe she’s gone back to that pervert ex of hers she said she was done with. Maybe that’s how epic my fuckup actually was in real terms.
That even if by some miracle I’m able to untangle myself from this steaming shit pile, it won’t make a single shred of difference because she’s done with me. She can’t love me.
No. I can’t believe that.
I have to believe this isn’t all for nothing. That at the very least I’ll get myself and Cale out of this fucking mess. He’ll have a better life far away from this place, without the reminders of who and what I am echoing around him.
I look over at him again and inhale a deep breath, the burn easing slightly. He’s playing the drums on his thighs and mouthing along to every word. He’s literally the only thing I have left at this moment, and that terrifies me. That and never getting her back are the only things that terrify me. Not the deal or the possibility Fred will find out, put a bullet in my head, and throw my corpse in the Thames to rot. None of that comes close to the fear of losing Caleb and Alex.
You already lost her. You disgust her. She can’t love you.
As I’m staring at him the doorbell goes, startling me out of my half-trance. I’m not expecting anyone. I look down at myself as I walk toward the door, wondering if I’m even fit for human consumption. I need a shower and a shave. I’ve been wallowing in sweatpants and a T-shirt for a month and a half. Whenever I don’t need to be at the club I sit here and feel sorry for myself in clothes I’ve washed maybe three times in five weeks.
When I open the door Vic smiles brightly, flicking her long blonde hair over her shoulder. It sends a wave of perfume wafting over me that reminds me of the past. I associate it with house parties with people I don’t like, Jägermeister, and hangovers. My stomach rolls. She has on a tight, bright knee-length orange dress, white leather sandals that put her about a foot taller, and a full face of makeup. She always comes here dressed to the nines these days. I know why too.
“Hey,” she says, eyeing me from head to toe as she fiddles with a lock of hair.
Instead of answering I turn and walk away without inviting her in.
She follows anyway, noisy feet and noisier jewelry rattling over my shoulder. “I heard you playing from outside. You’re sounding really good, babe.”
Caleb spots her immediately but doesn’t move, just looks from me to her and back down at the iPad.
“Is he on that thing again?” she remarks. “I told Fred not to buy him one.”
“He’s not been near it all day.” I scowl at her.
She makes some “hmm” noises and crouches down next to him. “Hey, little man. You been good for your daddy?” she asks, lifting off the headphones.
Caleb stabs the iPad and then puts it down. He looks up at me with big eyes, and I nod.