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In the back of my mind, a little voice whispers, This is wrong.
No fucking kidding, asshole. There’s nothing right about this.
“I’m going to leave now.” I’m amazed that my paralyzed vocal cords allow me to speak. I’m not amazed by the naked anger in my tone. “Because I honestly can’t look at you right now.”
A tiny breath puffs out of her mouth. She doesn’t say a word.
I stagger to the door, my brain and heart and motor functions eerily close to shutting down on me, but I manage one hoarse parting line as I reach the threshold. “You know what, Wellsy?” Our gazes lock and her lips tremble as if she’s trying not to cry. “For someone who’s so damn strong, you really are a fucking coward.”
Alcohol. I need some fucking alcohol.
There’s no alcohol in the fridge.
I barrel up the stairs two at a time and burst into Logan’s bedroom without knocking. Fortunately, he’s not in the middle of boning some nameless puck bunny. I wouldn’t have cared if he was. I’m a man on a mission, and Logan’s closet is the mission.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demands as I throw open the closet door and reach for the top shelf.
“Taking your whiskey.”
“Why?”
Why? Why?
Maybe because my chest feels like someone scraped it with a dull razorblade for the past ten years? And then they took that razorblade and shoved it down my throat so it would tear up my windpipe and shred my insides. And then to add insult to injury, they ripped my heart out and threw it on the ice so an entire hockey team could slash it up with their skates.
Yup. So that’s where I’m at right now.
“Jesus Christ, G, what’s going on?”
I find Logan’s Jack Daniel’s bottle underneath an old hockey helmet and curl my fingers around it. “Hannah dumped me,” I mumble.
I hear Logan’s shocked breath. A bitter, spiteful part of me wonders if he’s happy by the news. If he thinks this might be his golden opportunity to move in on my girlfriend.
Sorry. My ex-girlfriend.
But when I turn around, I find nothing but sympathy flashing in his eyes. “Shit, man. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Me too.”
“What happened?”
I twist off the bottle cap. “Ask me again when I’m shit-faced. Maybe I’ll be drunk enough to tell you.”
I swallow a deep swig of whiskey. Normally the alcohol would burn its way down to my gut. Tonight I’m too numb to feel it.
Logan stops asking me questions. He wanders over and snatches the whiskey from my hand. “Well.” He sighs before raising the bottle to his lips and tipping his head back. “Then I guess we’re getting shit-faced.”
41
HANNAH
Iknew I would be a basket case for the rest of the semester, but I didn’t expect it to be because of the hollow cavern in my chest that used to hold my heart.
I haven’t seen or spoken to Garrett in a week. A week is not a long time. I’ve noticed that as I get older, time seems to fly by in hyper-speed. You blink, and a week has passed. Blink again, and a year has gone by.
But ever since I broke up with Garrett, time has reverted back to the way it was when I was little. When a school year felt like forever, and a summer never seemed to end. Time has slowed down, and it’s excruciating. These past seven days may as well be seven years. Seven decades.
I miss my boyfriend.
