Alone [manxman]

seventeen: when you cry cause you want to

He grabs for the glass on the table, he takes a sip, I try to hold in my discontent.

"I'm not going anywhere."

He scoffs.

"So we're just gonna sit here and figure this out."

He laughs. Paul was good at that, at hiding his sadness in malice. I kept eye contact, didn't let it waver, tuned out what he said, caught the end "...You're saying that I can't be alone when I-when I need to be alone, then what? Yyou're gonna blame me for ruining your fucking party."

"You're angry drinking. Isaiah said—"

He guffaws. It's meant to stop me in my tracks.

I refuse to waver. "Isaiah said that's the worst thing that you can do-" He's laughing again. He's shaking his head and it's stiff, his hands are stiff at his sides as the glass hangs from his hand, he's so uncomfortable it's scary.

He folds his arms into his chest and the wine in the glass sloshes over the rim, a few droplets windborne, staining his tee.

It's a Warriors t-shirt. I've never seen it before, it's too big for him. It's Izzy's.

I know it is.

"I-is this just some awful joke to you—"

"Julian." It's softer, maybe he wasn't in his mind but he was certainly rational enough to try and manipulate me. He's touching my arms now, in Isaiah's shirt and I can't be angry, it won't happen because I smell the wine.

I love him, but I see him.

The bottle still sits on the counter, he's looking that way, not at me. I wonder how many times he's done that... How he's thought of drinking before thinking of me.

"Jules, I need you to leave."

"I don't think that's what you need."

"That's not on you-"

"Luis." He's pacing again, he's scratching the back of his neck. "Your show is in two days, I'm not letting you hide out, it's important, I wanna be here."

"Then just... relax." He's stepping towards me, with a glint in his eye, his hands are on my hips, twining around, pulling me closer.

No.

"Baby..."

"You've been drinking..." And lying to me. "And treating me like I don't matter."

"I haven't."

"I was waiting for you."

His brows creased like he didn't think I'd be mad. "I-I know but—"

"I made dinner... you couldn't have called?" It's all cold, now, the rest of it abandoned on the stovetop. Ben promised, when I left, that he'd put it away later and I was sure he meant in his stomach. Andria said that I needed to set boundaries and look where not taking that advice got me.

I wanted to have the conversation over dinner and he wouldn't pick up his phone. "Where were you all day?" Am I supposed to play these games with him?

Does he want me to worry about him? That doesn't matter, I worry despite it all. Even miles away, he still insists on more space.

It's infuriating.

"Your studio, or..." Where the fuck else would be beside the bar? He wasn't here if he was, he wouldn't have turned off his location, "home or—"