Three months later…

My place is a fucking mess. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and reach for my phone. “Shit!” My hand knocked the empty bottle of Jack Daniels to the floor and shards of glass fly in every direction.

I’m disgusted with myself, but I can’t snap out of the funk that I’ve been in for months. I’d crash back into bed, but the stench of my sweat-soaked sheets mixed with dried alcohol, makes me a gag. The pounding on my door mirrors the pounding in my head. “Open up Ry…are you dead, man?”

No—but I wish I was.

Fuck.

“Stop shouting and give me a minute!” I hop over the shards of glass but feel the cut of a few pieces lodge into the bottoms my feet.

Fucking fantastic.

Limping to the door, I sag for a moment against the sturdy wood frame before unlocking the deadbolt.

“Christ, you look like a dead man walking.”

“And I feel like one, too. What’s up Blake?”

He hands me a tall black coffee and a bag of bagels, before waltzing inside, “Welcome to your intervention. Now get in the fucking shower and give yourself a shave. You have an appointment in an hour.”

“With who?”

“A shrink. You need help. Your place is a pigsty and you look like a junkie who had a bad hit. Wake-up man, before it’s too late and you flunk out an inch away from graduation.”

I scrub my face with one hand—he’s so fucking right, but I don’t have anything left inside: the fire went out.

“Who are you calling?” I stalk towards him afraid he’s dialing her.

“Relax Ryan,” Blake holds his palms towards me, “just a maid service. It’s my birthday gift to you.”

Holy shit. I’m so far gone that I didn’t even realize it. Today is my twenty-sixth birthday and instead of a fit man in his prime— I’m a shaky pathetic mess. Without a word, I hobble to the bathroom and sit on the toilet, reaching for my shaving bag. It’s covered in a layer of dust. I wipe it off with my hand before looking inside for tweezers.

“Shit! Mother-fucker!” I curse, extracting glass from my flesh.

 Happy fucking birthday to me.

When I’m done, I dab the bleeding cuts with a wad of toilet paper. Then I stand up and grab the edge of the sink when the room starts to spin, not recognizing the man in the mirror.

I’m a ghost. A pale stranger stares back at me.

Turning on the taps, I splash cold water on my face and clean the blade. The fragrant smell of shaving cream fills the air and with each swipe of the blade; I slowly re-appear.

I’m out of shower gel, so I stand under the pounding jets until I can no longer smell the weeks of stank that clings to me.

Blake’s right.

I need help, but he better keep his mouth shut. Best friend or not—I’ll break his jaw if it leaks to anybody that I’m going to see a shrink.

Ryan Stone is no pussy.

Even though I’m too weak to kick ass right now, I need to pick myself up off the floor and return to the land of the living again.

***

 

“Jesus I’m a mess.”

“True. But was she good or what?”

“Fuck, depression… me?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Between school and your personal life things were a goddamn ball of stress, and that was before Abby died.”

“Christ I know. You’d think after being with Em for over a year, I’d feel something. But the truth is Blake, I feel dead inside. Zero, zilch, nada.”

“Give yourself time. Are you going to fill the script?”

I look down at the piece of paper in my hands; she said it would take two to three weeks to kick in—Lexapro. Never heard of it, but then again, why would I?

I’m at the edge of the cliff and I have a choice to make. Do I jump off, or claw my way up the crumbling rocks to safety?

It was weird talking to the psychiatrist at first. And like a girl, I asked Blake to go in with me. I didn’t talk about Abbs, not yet. The pain is too raw. Instead, I started off talking about Em, school, and what my goals were for my future; before everything turned to shit.

Dr. Miller thinks that my emotional nose-dive into hell started before Abby died. She thinks the pressure of Harvard, and Em wrangling for an engagement ring was already pushing me towards the cliff. It was Dad’s affair and then Abby’s death, that pushed me right over.

“Hell, it kills me to admit this— but yes, I think that I do need the anti-depressants.”

“Just remember that you can’t drink, or they’ll spiral you right back down into hell.”

“I never left brother, but summer is coming and I need to get myself right. I’m going to focus on two things: the gym and work. Actually make that three— gym, work and ass. Thanks for everything Blake. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through these past few months, without you.”

“Shit. Are you going all sappy on me?”

“Shut up,” I push him against the hall in jest. “I’m hungry, you buying? Because this has been the shittiest birthday ever.”

“Hell, dinner isn’t the only thing that I’m buying. I just got access to my mother’s trust fund.”

“Jesus— how much?”

“Thirty-million.”

“Well, your best friend is on his way to being a kick-ass financial advisor.”

“I know, but I’m not putting it in the bank.”

“That’s a mistake. Don’t go all crazy on hookers and cars.”

“Oh, I’m going to spend it on a woman alright. I just paid the commission on a custom-made Viking.”

“Christ. The base model of those yachts starts at ten-mil…”

“I know, but mine is probably going to come in over twenty.”

“You fool.”

“I don’t care. She’s the only woman that will have my heart anytime soon. When she’s done, we will have to name her.”

“Good grief. Does your father know about this?”

“No and there’s not a goddamn thing that he can do about it, even if he did.”

***

 

“Blake? Hey what are you doing up here?”

He stands greeting the bombshell who is standing next to our table. Blake took me to a new restaurant on Newbury Street for my birthday dinner. At first I didn’t feel much like going, but now I’m glad we came.

“I’m going to Harvard for my MBA. I graduate next month, how about you Blaire?”

“Oh, I just moved here. I got a new job over in Cambridge.”

From over the rim of my ice water, I check out her legs…ass, and tits. She’s on the skinny side but her rack looks decent enough. Her face would be goddamn breathtaking if she didn’t plump her lips with so much filler. I love her hair though; it’s cool, sleek and the color of iced-champagne. I could see myself grabbing fistfuls of it, while driving into her. I haven’t been laid since Em. I’ve been too depressed to even think about it.

“Blaire, this is my best friend Ryan. Ry— Blaire is an old family friend; we actually went to boarding school together in Connecticut.”

I stand up, intentionally standing too close to her. My legs brush against hers as I bend my head to kiss both of her cheeks. My eyes drift down, noticing her hard nipples pointing at me beneath her silk blouse. I don’t waste any time with pretenses, “Can I get your number?”

She smiles, rattling of her digits and my fingers input them just as rapidly as she gives them.

“You’re a fast worker, Ry.”

“The fastest,” I agree. I probably still look like shit, but after my shave and shower— I don’t look half bad.

“I’m not sure Blaire’s falls into the random category. She’s the country club type: her parents are members at the yacht club with my father.”

I wave my hand, dismissing him, “Those are the best kind. They are groomed to perfection and fuck like mad. I bet she has major daddy issues, because he probably throws money at her instead of love.”

“Christ, you are a heartless animal.”

“At least I’m honest about it. Don’t worry, Blake— I’ll make sure she knows the score before I strip her bare and dive in.”

“Christ—you’ve become quite vulgar.”

“Since when did you shy away from locker room talk? You pussy.”

He shrugs, flicking the fabric on the cuff of his sports coat. “I just prefer to be more discreet than you, that’s all.”

“Since when?”

“Since my dad’s been on my ass. I haven’t told you, but I got into some trouble this winter when I was in St. Kitts.”

“What did you do?”

“I threw an after party on a yacht that we rented for the convention. Some of the girls brought back drugs—hardcore shit. I think my drink got spiked.”

“Jesus, you got roofied?”

“I think so, especially since the chic that I didn’t even remember sleeping with claimed to be pregnant with my kid.”

“What the fuck?”

“I know. Even though she was lying—Charles threw a real shit-fit. I’m going to have to be careful, but don’t worry. He won’t have a say on what I do on my own goddamn boat.”

“Is that why you are buying one? Freedom?”

“Partly, the ocean is in my blood. I could live on this boat, it’s so fucking big. What the fuck are you doing? Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course,” I answer placing my phone down. But as soon as I do— it buzzes. I pick it up and scan her message.

“It looks like I’m going to be wearing my birthday suit after all. All night— with Blaire.”

Blake rubs a hand across his face, “Remind me to buy you a box of rubbers on the way out.”

As my knife slices through my butter-soft prime rib, it melts in my mouth and I feel much better already. I stretch my legs and grin, wondering if Blaire likes it slow or fast?

I will find out soon enough.