𝔸𝕧𝕒

My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I struggle to force my eyes open. There's a pounding in my ears and every muscle in my body is aching—undoubtedly thanks to my gymnastic plunge into the pool last night.

Oh god—tell me that didn't actually happen.

My phone vibrates again and I see the time on the screen: 10:30 am.

Ahh crap.

I'm soooo not ready to deal with everything that happened last night. Then I see the name of the caller: Zane.

Double crap.

The call goes to voicemail before I have the strength to force myself out of bed. I guess the latest medication isn't doing whatever it's supposed to do because I feel like hot garbage. I attempt to drag myself toward the phone, each muscle frozen and fighting me along the way.

The screen reads: 8 Missed Calls.

Super crap.

Sure enough, they're all from Zane.

My mind immediately expects the worst. I acted so crazy, and he already seemed put off by the encounter with my brother the other day.

Is he giving up on me? Has he decided I'm super crazy and all my baggage is not worth dealing with?

I stare at the screen, completely paralyzed as my heart sinks.

Maybe he's just checking up on you. Maybe you're making a mountain out of a molehill. He could just be worried about you.

If he was worried about you why didn't he stay over last night?

Damn brain.

I'm startled by the phone vibrating in my hand. It's Zane again. I hit the answer button before I lose my nerve.

"Hey," I say into the phone.

"Hey," Zane's voice echoes softly.

That's not a good voice.

There's an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"Uh," Zane's voice says softly after a pause. "We need to talk."

No.

No.

No.

This can't be happening.

No, calm down. Zane wouldn't break up with you over the phone.

"Uh, okay," I say, fighting back the lump in my throat. "That sounds really ominous."

Once again his end of the line is silent.

"Do you wanna come over?" I ask.

"No," he replies quickly. "I... we... this isn't working out."

My heart feels like it's being crushed inside a trash compactor.

The other day we were soulmates. Now it 'isn't working out'?

Suddenly the ache in my muscles feels like nothing in comparison to the stabbing pain in my chest.

"You're... you're breaking up with me?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says roughly, almost as if he's choking back a cough.

"Wh-... Why?" I ask. "I mean I know I went a little crazy last night, but I think that the alcohol just really got to me more than usual. I don't know if—"

"No, it's not about last night," he says. "I just can't."

"I don't understand," I say, my voice wavering as tears begin to spill onto my cheeks. "Can we talk about this in person?"

"No. I'm not changing my mind."

Zane's voice is hard and restrained.

"If you're going to break up with me over the phone, I at least deserve to know why," I say, my crying now apparent in my voice

"Because, I..." he begins to say, but then doesn't finish.

"Can I just come over and we can talk? This doesn't make any se—"

"Because I don't want to be with you anymore."

His words feel like they've sliced right through my throat and I struggle to speak or breathe. The line disconnects and the silent hum of the phone fades into complete silence.

He's gone.

ℤ𝕒𝕟𝕖

Bile creeps up my throat and, in a violent lurch, I collapse to the ground, emptying my stomach into the bin as the room spins around me.

In my almost 200 years, I've never thrown up before. Apparently being immune to illness does not make me immune to the overwhelming disgust I have with myself for telling Ava I don't want to be with her.

I can't imagine a more despicable thing I could do than to make her cry like that. Hearing her tears on the phone shattered me.

How am I ever going to let her go?

My lungs sting with every breath and my chest grows tighter still.

FUCK.

How much bloody alcohol am I going to have to drink to make this stop hurting?

I stagger toward the kitchen and rifle through the cupboards until I've gathered about 11 bottles of various alcohol varieties—a few whiskeys, several bottles of vodka that I keep on hand for Kieran, and a few unopened bottles of rum, tequila, and gin.

I line them up and begin to open and down one after the other.

I drink the first bottle in under a minute. After 20 minutes I've cleared every last one and am laying on the rug, surrounded by empty bottles while the room rotates and tilts around me.

My vision is blurred and before I know it I black out for several hours.

When I come to, I have several missed calls from Kami and the room is dark. The clock reads 2:00 am.

Fuck.

I'm going to need a lot more alcohol.

I stagger into my bathroom and find my hands rummaging through the apothecary cabinet. I pull out a cloudy black glass bottle with a yellowed paper label that's almost entirely worn off, closed with a cork coated in wax.

I make my way over to the living room and slump onto the couch.

What am I thinking?

Ava's face enters my mind. Flashes of grey eyes and strands of purple hair. The sound of her voice as she cried.

My eyes focus on the bottle again.

I can't do this.

I can't hear her voice as she cries again, knowing that I'm the one that caused those tears.

This is the worst idea I've ever had.

My phone rings and I grope around the sofa cushions until I find it, answering in a fumble.

"Hello," I say. My voice comes out hoarse and cracked.

"Jesus, Z, where the hell have you been?!" Kami's voice shouts on the phone.

"I'm home," I attempt to say, though it comes out as more of a drunken slur.

"Oh, god... Tell me you didn't."

I say nothing in response, still watching the room spin and rolling the bottle in my palm.

Am I really this desperate?

"Zane, are you okay?" she asks.

"No."

"We can fix this, okay? We can find an answer."

"I know," I say. My thumb hovers over the 'End Call' button and I press it.

I've found an answer and I'm looking right at it.

I pop the cork of the bottle and take a drink.