Once again, my big mouth has hurt someone that I love. And even if Dorian hurt me first, there’s no excuse for what I’ve said. I am no better than his father. No, actually I’m worse. I knew how to hurt Dorian, I knew what triggers took him to his dark place, and I did it anyway.
Chapter Twelve
The next few days pass excruciatingly slow, a little piece of me dying with each day without Dorian. I know I should call him but my pride- well, what’s left of it- along with sheer humiliation, won’t let me. If he wanted to see me, he’d be here. The looming truth that Dorian has finally seen me for what I really am and would rather do without the headache is unbearable. But I can’t fault him; he deserves so much more than me. Regardless of what he is, regardless of his past, he is perfect in every way.
After a tortuous sleep that I eventually aided with an entire bottle of red wine, I awaken Thursday morning feeling confused and anguished. My head is pounding and my body feels like it’s been dipped in cement. Dorian still hasn’t called nor texted and my mind is beginning to sprout painful musings of him running to Aurora’s waiting arms and warm bed.
Maybe this is it. Maybe Dorian has had enough of me and my childish ways. He didn’t deserve that considering he’s devoted his life to protecting me. Yet, because I was feeling irrational and scorned, I had to have the last word. I had to make him feel as demoralized as he made me feel. Right or wrong, I took it too far, and I am dreadfully afraid that I’ve pushed him away for good.
Luckily it’s my day off, so I slowly nurse my hangover, watching bad TV and eating junk in bed. I’m in a dark place; I can feel myself slowly ticking towards self-destruction. Even with the faint remains of my alcohol-induced headache, all I want to do is drink until I can’t feel anymore. It’s only noon but I head to the kitchen to pour myself a shot of tequila and grab a cold beer to chase it.
With Morgan at work, the apartment seems cold and desolate, yet I feel like I’m suffocating, the feelings of loneliness and remorse tightly gripping my chest. I have to get out of here; the longer I stay, the more I’ll have to feel. I down my shot, letting the hot, burning liquid scorch my aching chest. Then I pick up the phone. There’s only one person who could begin to ease my discontentment.
“Hey Jared, what’s up, buddy?” I say after he picks up after two rings.
“Gabs! Didn’t expect to hear from you! I’m glad you called,” he says cheerfully.
Jared. Always a breath of fresh air. His sincerity instantly begins to soothe my troubled soul. “I wanted to see if you were busy today. It’s my day off, and I was hoping we could hang.” Translation: I was hoping you could help me forget what a massive screw up I am.
“Really?” he replies incredulously. “You want to spend your day off with me? Not Dorian?”
Crap. Of course he’d bring him up, causing the tightness in my chest to return with a vengeance. I take a deep breath, trying to level my shaky voice despite the large lump in my throat. “No. I want to spend it with you,” I say, hoping he can’t detect any sign of suffering.
“Ok,” he says cautiously. He knows there’s more to it than what I’m giving away. “Where do you wanna meet up?”
“Um, actually, would you mind coming to pick me up? I’ve already been drinking.”
A long beat passes before Jared speaks again. “You ok?” He knows me better than anyone else and I can’t hide from him. Yet, he also knows when not to press the issue with a barrage of judgments and questions.
“I will be. See you in half an hour?”
After downing my beer, I rummage through my closet in search of something to wear. I don’t even feel like getting dressed at this point but I couldn’t subject Jared to the embarrassment of having to be seen with me in pajama pants and a t-shirt. I decide on jeans, a charcoal grey tank and black flip flops. It’s not much better than my PJs but at least I’ve taken the time to comb my unruly hair. Before Jared arrives, I take another shot of tequila to ward off the threat of melancholy that keeps trying to creep its way to the surface. He’s punctual as always, and I instantly notice the worry etched in his face when I open the front door.
“Don’t,” is all I say shaking my head. I don’t want his concern; I don’t deserve it. I grab my purse, and we head for his car in tense silence.
“Where to?” Jared asks once we are on the road, headed towards Academy Boulevard.
“Just drive. I’ll tell you when I see it,” I respond.
I see Jared’s CD booklet, housing his music collection. I flip through until I find what I’m looking for before ejecting The Script, singing a heartfelt melody. I can’t hear this, not now when I am trying so hard to hold it together. I pop in Eminem, knowing that only he could relate to my afflicted state of mind.