Chapter 54 054
RYAN
I woke up with a headache so bad it felt like my skull was splitting in half.
The pain was sharp and heavy at the same time. It sat behind my eyes and throbbed with every heartbeat. Each pulse felt like someone was swinging a hammer straight into my head. I groaned and rolled onto my side, hoping the movement might help. It did not. Instead, I froze.
This was not my bed.
The mattress felt wrong beneath me. Firmer. Less forgiving. The sheets were cool and smelled like fresh laundry, not like home. There was also a faint smell of whiskey in the air, lingering and sour. I cracked my eyes open slowly, afraid that too much light would finish me off, and took a careful look around the room.
Guest room.
Aaron’s place.
I let out a long breath and dropped my head back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling. It all made sense now, in a painful sort of way.
So DJ must have called him last night.
Bits and pieces of the night floated back to me, not in any useful order. Just flashes. Bright club lights cutting through darkness. Music so loud it rattled my bones. DJ’s face pulled tight with worry as he watched me drink. Aaron’s arm hooked around my shoulders, steady and solid. Me stumbling, half-dragging my feet as we made our way out of the club doors.
I remembered talking.
Too much talking.
Emily’s name slipping out of my mouth again and again.
Custody.
My mother.
I remembered saying everything was fucked, like that one word could explain the mess inside my head.
I groaned again and rolled onto my back. The movement made the room spin instantly. The ceiling tilted, then slid sideways. I squeezed my eyes shut and lay completely still, breathing slowly while I waited for the dizziness to pass.
After a minute, I forced myself to sit up.
Bad idea.
The world tilted hard this time, like it was trying to throw me off. My stomach lurched, hot and angry. I pressed my feet flat on the floor and leaned forward, elbows on my knees, head hanging low. I breathed through it, slow and deep, until the nausea backed off enough to let me move again.
I yawned. A deep, painful yawn that stretched my jaw and made my temples ache.
Damn.
My breath was awful.
It was so bad my own eyes watered. I winced and pushed myself to stand, moving slowly and carefully. One hand stayed on the wall as I made my way into the attached bathroom, just in case my legs decided to give up on me.
The mirror did not do me any favors.
My eyes were bloodshot and dull. My hair stuck out in every direction, like I had fought someone in my sleep and lost. My face looked tired. Like I had not slept in days, even though I knew I had passed out hard.
I turned on the sink and splashed cold water onto my face. Once. Twice. Three times. The shock of it helped. It cut through the fog just a little and made my thoughts slow down.
I grabbed the toothbrush and brushed like my life depended on it. Long strokes. Back teeth. Tongue. Everything. Then mouthwash. I swished hard and spit.
Then I did it again.
I still felt like death when I looked up at my reflection, but at least I did not smell like a distillery anymore.
I left the bathroom and shuffled downstairs, moving slow and careful, like my body was made of glass. Each step sent a dull ache through my head. Not sharp anymore, but deep and constant. I held onto the railing and took my time. I did not trust my legs yet.
The smell of coffee hit me halfway down the stairs.
Strong. Rich. Warm.
I followed it like it was the only thing keeping me alive.
Aaron was already up.
He sat at the dining table with his laptop open in front of him, sleeves rolled up, posture straight. His fingers moved fast over the keyboard, confident and steady. He looked calm. Focused.
He did not look up when I walked in.
“Took you long enough,” he said, his voice dry and flat. “I almost reported you dead.”
I grunted. It might have been a laugh, but it came out rough and broken. My throat felt dry and sore, like I had been screaming all night. I did not bother answering him properly. Talking felt like too much work.
I went straight to the kitchen.
My head felt like it was going to explode again. The pain had settled into something mean and heavy. I blinked slowly and scanned the counter like I was looking for treasure.
Then I saw it.
The bottle of painkillers.
I almost cried.
I twisted the cap off with shaky fingers, shook two pills into my palm, and swallowed them with a full glass of water. I did not even care what they were. At that moment, they could have been magic beans for all I knew.
Aaron’s voice carried over from the dining room. “Check the fridge. My help made you your hangover drink before leaving this morning.”
I opened the fridge door.
Cold air hit my face.
And there it was.
A mason jar.
It sat right in front, impossible to miss. There was a neat label stuck to it in clean handwriting. Ryan’s Cure.
I snorted quietly. It hurt my head, but it was worth it.
The liquid inside was greenish and thick. It looked like something you would give a sick plant, not a human being. It smelled like ginger, lemon, and regret all mixed together. I closed my eyes and drank the whole thing in one go.
It tasted like grass.
It tasted like bad decisions.
But it also tasted like salvation.
I exhaled slowly and leaned against the counter for a second. The tight knot in my stomach loosened just a little. I poured myself a cup of coffee next, using my favorite mug. The black one with the cracked handle. Aaron always saved it for me. I wrapped my hands around it like it was sacred. The warmth seeped into my palms and up my arms.
For the first time since waking up, I felt almost human.
I carried the mug back to the dining table and dropped into the chair across from him. My body felt heavy. Like gravity had doubled overnight. My bones felt tired. Not just sore, but worn down.
“Thanks, man,” I said quietly.
He closed his laptop halfway and finally looked at me. His eyes scanned my face, taking in the damage. “You’re welcome. What happened?”
I groaned and rubbed my temples with both hands. “I feel terrible. I feel like an ass. I’m such a stupid person.”
He did not interrupt. He did not judge. He just watched me, calm and patient, like he always did when I was spiraling. Waiting for me to say the part that actually mattered.
I stared into my coffee for a long moment. The surface shook slightly because my hands were not as steady as I wanted them to be.
“She still wants me, Aaron,” I said.
He shrugged one shoulder like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Are you surprised? You guys were so in love back then.”
My chest tightened at the word love.
“I don’t deserve her love,” I said. My voice cracked before I could stop it. I hated that it did. “I told her I was dating Miranda. The assistant in my office.”
His eyebrows shot up instantly. “What the fuck, man? Are you stupid?”
I nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I’m stupid.”
He sighed and closed the laptop completely this time. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Are you fine, Ryan?”
I shook my head. The answer came too easily. “I don’t know, man. I feel lost. I feel like I’m making all the wrong choices. Every single one.”
I thought about Emily’s face. The way her eyes looked when she cried. The way she begged me not to punish her. The way she asked me to talk to my mother like it was her last hope.
Aaron leaned back in his chair. “Have you actually seen a therapist since all this shit started?”
I shook my head again. “No way I’m seeing a shrink, bro. I told you this before.”
“You need to consider it, Ry,” he said. His tone was serious now. No jokes. No teasing. “You really need to.”
I did not answer.
Because deep down, I knew he was right. And that scared me more than anything.