“I was thinking specifically Mike, actually.” The guy, understandably, hates me. He blames me, and I know my short fuse at the moment won’t allow me to handle the situation with anything other than a fist in his face.

“I’ll see what I can do. Where are you, anyway?”

“My apartment.” At least, I will be. I turn onto the main road and start looking out for a cab.

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Car returned?”

“Yes.”

“All okay?”

No. “Yes.”

“Fine. See you in the morning.” He hangs up, and a cab pulls over the lanes and up to the curb. I jump in and flop back, feeling exhaustion take hold. I reach for my throat. It’s rough and scratchy. My heart actually hurts from the relentless pounding. My skin is sore from the constant bombardment of heat.

And yet it’s still feels like a far more appealing kind of hell than being blind drunk.

Or have I simply forgotten how blissful that nothingness is, even if only temporarily?

8

I have absolutely no desire to go to The Manor today. It seems I’m constantly dealing with shit, dodging shit, and getting myself into shit. John’s fat fingers are drumming the steering wheel when I slide into the passenger seat, and he’s humming.

His fingers stop. His humming stops. He looks across the car to me. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t sleep.” I don’t know what contributed to my insomnia more. Ava or alcohol on my mind. One would have eliminated the other. And yet, having a drink feels almost like letting myself down, and I’ve never had that direction of thought before. “What’s the situation with Coral and Mike?”

John pulls off. “Put your belt on,” he grumbles, and I sigh, doing as I’m told. “Mike’s pissed. Coral’s pissed. Everyone is pissed.” He turns his deadly glare onto me. “Don’t get involved with a married couple ever again, you stupid motherfucker.”

I blow out my cheeks, rubbing at my forehead. I doubt John has ever called me a stupid motherfucker as many times in the space of one week. Can’t say I’m loving it. Deserve it? Yes. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

“There’s something in the bag on the floor for you.” He motions to my feet, and I reach down, dragging up a Tesco bag. “Looks like you need it.”

I pull out a jar of peanut butter and smile for the first time in what feels like days. “Cheers, bud.” I dive right in.

“So you and the girl? It’s done?”

“Not by a long shot,” I say without thought and immediately regret it. I shove my finger in my gob to shut me up. I don’t need him to nag me. Not today. Not ever. “She’s stubborn.”