Page 121 of The Monster and the Masochist

‘We need to talk.’

Any hopes I had that I’d made it back without getting caught were immediately dashed, and the blood drained from my face.

It was over.

If she saw me like that… it was fucking over for sure.

The explosion of anxiety, guilt, and pent-up trauma that wracked through my body was catastrophic.

I didn’t make the conscious decision to cross the room and open Cass’s wine fridge. It just happened.

It almost felt like I was having an out-of-body experience as I watched my hands pour an entire bottle of pinot grigio into my hydro flask. The cold, bright liquid splashed into the water bottle, and I stared at it in a sort of detached, dissociative state.

The first few gulps made my headache go away.

The next few made the shaking stop.

Instead of feeling drunk, it just made me feel more level.

It was like someone turned down the volume on my emotions.

The insanely powerful feelings of hurt, shame, and fear dulled down to a delicate sort of apathy, and I suddenly felt like I could handle being alive again.

Good. This was good.

All I had to do was maintain this level of buzz, and I could make it through the fight.

Then if Cass asked me to move out tomorrow, I could handle it.

At least she was giving me time to mentally prepare.

I took another massive gulp of wine.

Go slow.

You can’t get blackout.

Filling another flask up with water, I took a few gulps of that too, hoping it would help even me out before I went back to the bedroom to see if I could find my gym bag.

It wasn’t there…

It wasn’t in the condo at all. Neither was my phone.

Fuck.

I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration, hoping I hadn’t left my shit at my dad’s grave, but knowing I probably had, I resolved to set out on my second depressing scavenger hunt of the day.

Well, guess I was heading out earlier than planned.

Borrowing one of Cass’s yoga bags, I shoved in my hydro flask full of wine along with my water bottle. I also added a pair of shorts and a sports bra for the fight later, in case my gym bag wasn’t at the cemetery.

As I kicked on my shoes to wait for the elevator, I looked back at the bright, gorgeous condo I’d had the brief pleasure of living in with the woman of my fucking dreams.

This was probably one of the last times I would ever be here.

No one would want me to stay after dealing one of my crash outs. Especially not someone as put together as Cassandra.

I cringed as my imagination tormented me with ideas of what she’d probably dealt with when I walked into her house in the middle of the night, completely blackout.