When a car crash claims the lives of their partners, Ezra and Imani are left reeling as they discover their loved ones died while holding hands. With accusations of an affair and betrayal flying, they're thrown together into grief and anger. Ezra's...
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7
Ezra
WHY? Why? Why?
The ceaseless mantra echoes in my head as I clench my jaw, trying to contain the storm inside me. Fingers trace the rim of the glass, the amber liquid inside mirroring the swirl of emotions inside me. The polished wood of the bar feels cold under my fingertips as I stare into nothingness, taking a swing after swing of the drinks the bartender keeps replacing, ignoring the way my throat burns with each swallow.
Theres a terrible ache in my chest that no matter how many drinks I down, I can't rub it away. I can't dull the pain, and I can't forget it. Each sip is a bitter taste in my mouth. Each sip makes my mind race, haunted by the image that hasn't left my brain for days now, gnaws at my soul, like a relentless, venomous serpent, poisoning every happy memory with her.
The bartender slides a beer across the counter, and I raise it to my lips, hoping the burn will sear away the ache, if only for a moment. It doesn't. It's been four days since Madison was cremated. A private funeral happened and I skipped out on the service. I just couldn't bring myself to be there. My mind is just too fucked up. My heart too broken to keep a proper conversation with anyone. If it was up to me, I'd have skipped out on the funeral.
I haven't seen Madison's parents ever since the funeral, and I know they've been trying to contact me for days now, but each calls and text are left unanswered. I have no desire to talk to them. What do they want to say to me? They're sorry their daughter died? They're sorry she had an affair? Sorry she got caught and the world can't stop talking about it? Sorry she broke your heart?
Sorry I broke your heart.
Fuck. I can feel every moment of my life choking around me, setting the wheels in my head spinning with memories that are too painful. Every memory that forces me to take another swing of my beer to forget.
I feel Mark sliding into the stool beside, giving up on trying to secretly keep an eye on me. I don't look at him. Instead, I pick up an empty bottle that someone had left on the counter, staring at it.
"You know, if I smash this on my head, I won't feel a thing, right?"
"No, Ezra, you'll feel it. That's the pain talking, and you won't smash it on your head because you know better."
"Do I?" I take another gulp when the words fell off my tongue. I've downed more than three drinks, and I still can't feel myself getting any lightheaded, no warmth spreading through my cold body, no memories fading in my brain. It's like the alcohol isn't doing what I need it to do. I roll the empty bottle down along the counter, watching it roll away, but it doesn't tip and fall. No, it finds balance in the middle, sort of how I feel right now. I'm in the middle of trying to tip over, but there's something that's keeping me balance, anchoring me to the ground. I continue, "Because I sure as hell don't feel like I know anything. If I did, then I'd have seen this coming from a mile away."
