Gabe

I pick up the bottle of scotch that I’ve spent the night with and drain the remains.

I glance out at the morning creeping into the dark.

Foo Fighters’ “Best of You” is playing on a loop. It’s been playing for hours. It’s stuck on repeat. But I can’t be fucked to get up and change it. And, honestly, it’s pretty fucking apt for me at the moment, so I’ve just left it playing.

My cell starts to ring. I glance over at it on the coffee table.

Tate.

I leave it to ring out.

My cell’s been ringing all night. Vaughn. Julian. Gil. Donna. My publicist. And a bunch of other people I don’t give a shit about.

This is the first time that Tate’s called though.

He must’ve just seen the news.

Jesus. The thought of my baby brother knowing what I used to do to make money…

I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe through the pain.

I should have called him to give him a heads-up, but I just couldn’t bring myself to call him.

Well, he knows now.

The whole world knows.

My cell starts to ring again.

A number I don’t recognize.

“Fuck off!” I yell at my phone, like the person on the other end can hear me.

I should turn it off.

But Speedy might call.

Pathetic, right?

She’s betrayed me. Fed me to the sharks in return for a cash bonus. And I won’t turn my phone off in case she calls.

Not that I would answer. I just want to have the satisfaction of knowing that she called.

She sold you out, you pathetic piece of shit.

I laugh out loud. The sound echoes around my empty apartment, reminding me that I’m alone.

And alone is how I should be. It’s how I should have always been. I should never have gotten involved with her.

I can’t believe how fucking stupid I was. I told her everything. Spilled my guts out like a little bitch. When what I should have done is gotten rid of her. I should have tossed her out on her ass the second I fucked her.

Needing a smoke, I grab my cigarette pack off the floor, but the box is empty.

“For fuck’s sake.” I crumple the box in my hand and toss it aside.

Then, I drag my sorry ass off the sofa and go in search of some smokes. I think there are some in the kitchen drawer.

I go into the kitchen and stop dead, hit with a barrage of memories of her in here, cooking.

I can almost see her here, at the counter, cutting up vegetables for that fucking goat. And that time when she was making pizza, and I moved behind her and slid my fingers inside her—

“Fuck!” I roar.

I shove everything off the counter with my arms, the items crashing to the floor. Then, I’m grabbing anything I can get my hands on. The cups on the rack go smashing into the wall. The pan sitting on the stove goes flying across the room. I pick up a kitchen stool and start smashing it against the wall until only pieces of wood are left in my hands.

“Fuck!” I grip my head in my hands and slide down the wall to the floor as I start to cry.

I’m fucking crying.

I haven’t cried since…it’s been so long that I can’t remember. And, now, here I am, bawling my eyes out like a pussy because of her.

I fucking hate her.

And I love her.

I want her.

I didn’t know it was possible to feel such strong conflicting emotions for one person, but Ava’s shown me that I can.

The first and only woman I’ve ever fallen in love with, and she guts me like this.

Why did she do this to me? How could she do this to me?

I thought it hurt when my parents were taken to prison, leaving Tate and me alone. But this feels so much worse. Ava took my trust and used it against me.

And for what?

Money.

Fuck, if that was all she wanted, I would have given it to her.

I would have given her anything.

Done anything for her.

But it’s all just so fucked up. Because she’s never been about money. She’s never seemed to care about it.

So, why sell me out for cash?

It just doesn’t make sense.

But then maybe I didn’t know her at all. Clearly, I didn’t.

And it’s not like I’m known for having a good judge of character. I didn’t know my parents were murdering psychos, and I’d known them for seventeen years.

I laugh out loud at my own fucking stupidity, my head thudding back against the wall.

It just…fucking hurts so much.

I loved her.

I love her.

It hurts too much, and I need it to stop. I need to stop feeling.

I rub my hand over my face, drying away my pussy tears, and get to my feet. Stepping over the mess I just made, I go to the freezer and get the bottle of vodka from there.

I unscrew the cap and take a long drink. The liquor calms my pounding pulse, chilling my veins.

I retrieve a cigarette pack from the kitchen drawer and go back into the living room.

That fucking song is still playing.

I go over to my iPod system and turn the repeat off. I click forward a song. Fall Out Boy’s “Sugar, We’re Goin’ Down” starts to pump out of the speakers as I flop down on the sofa.

I get a cigarette out, put it between my lips, and light it up. I inhale a long pull of smoke.

I screw the cap off the vodka and take a long drink, letting the smoke out through my nose.

Fuck, that’s better.

This is all I need in life—cigarettes and alcohol. Wasn’t it Oasis who sang that song? They had it right. I don’t need anything else but these two things in my hands right now.

Fuck Ava. And her lies and deceit.

I don’t need her. I never did.

And fuck the rest of the world, too.

I don’t need anyone.

Everything I need, I’ve got right here.