“What’s it to you?” Don’t tell me she’s worried about me now? I grab another bottle and sling the empty in the sink. “Bastard.” I wince, trying to unscrew the cap, my hand hurting. A lot. Why the fuck does it hurt? It shouldn’t hurt. Nothing should fucking hurt. I fight my way through the pain and swig in a panic.

“Jesse,” she says softy. “Your hand needs looking at.”

My hand? She should see the state of my fucking heart. And on cue, it cracks a little more, pain radiating through me. What the fuck is this? “Look then,” I grate, showing her the mess. “Yet more damage you’ve caused.” She has the nerve to look insulted. Is she fucking blind? Didn’t see The Manor for what it was. Didn’t read all the signs. Doesn’t know how much I love her. “Yeah, you can stand there,” I snap, anger returning to join the pain, “stand there looking all bewildered . . . and . . . and . . . confused. I fucking told you. Didn’t I warn you?” I can’t breathe. Can’t see. Can’t bare this agony. “I . . . I warned you!”

She stares at me blankly. It’s another knife in my gut, twisting repeatedly. “Warned me about what?”

Unbelievable. And so fucking ignorant. “Fucking typical.”

“I didn’t know,” she says quietly, and I laugh.

“You didn’t know?” I hold up my bottle, and her eyes fall to it. “I said you would cause more damage if you left me, but you left anyway. Now look at the fucking state of me.” I manage to get my legs moving, and she backs up, wary.

“That’s it, run away. You’re a fucking prick tease, Ava. I can have you, then I can’t, then I can again. Make your fucking mind up!”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re an alcoholic?”

I back her up into a corner. “And give you another reason not to want me?” Wait. An alcoholic? “I’m not an alcoholic.”

“You need help,” she whispers, looking at me as I breathe down on her.

“I needed you,” I slur. “And . . . you . . . you left me.”

Her hands push into my bare chest, and I flinch at the warmth of her palms. I mustn’t take comfort in that. Not if she’s going to rob me of it again. So I move back and take more vodka. No one can take my vodka. “Sorry, am I invading your space?” I start laughing, sounding deranged, unhinged. I’m close. “It’s never bothered you before.”

“You weren’t drunk before,” she counters, looking at me with nothing but contempt.