Lose Control (The Jewel Project #5)

12.2|| It Gets Worse

Tom just stared for a few seconds than started laughing. He wasn't sure why, but this suddenly seemed hilarious. He pushed his glass to her and she got the message and refilled.

"To all my bad choices," he toasted and knocked the shot back.

"I get off at two," she said and headed out to serve another customer.

He didn't give a shit when she got off. He was already drunk enough for his thoughts not to make sense. By two, he'd be so wasted, he'd have trouble getting himself up off the floor, let alone anything else. Which was perfect. He wanted to be on the floor, preferably with people stepping all over him. Because that was his future.

Being a pariah. Unwanted and hunted down. By Snitch Gravel, by everyone.

He shut his eyes, the pain in his chest too real. His throat hurt and he was sure it wasn't from the tequila, but from trying to hold back the hurt and the tears.

Angie. Angie, where are you? I need you so much.

She'd left him. She'd gone off who knew where. He wanted to be with her, wherever she was. Help her, hold her, be there for her. He didn't want to be here, alone and hated by all.

A stupid tear escaped down his cheek and he wiped it away furiously. He hated weakness, his own more than anyone else's. His sunglasses could only hide so much and he had to keep it together. But at that moment, the room was spinning and he felt like he was falling apart.

His hand tightened around the phone in his pocket and he pulled it out and checked it for the millionth time, as if Angie would have suddenly decided to call. She didn't, but maybe it was his turn.

Even if he knew her phone was in their apartment, on the nightstand, turned off, he called her. It went straight to voicemail, like he knew it would.

"Angie," he whispered. "I wish you weren't gone. I wish you were here because... Everything went to hell, just like I told you it would. I wasn't ready. It's harder than I thought and..." His voice cracked as the tears took over. "I need you so much." God, his voice was pathetic and obviously filled with tears, but now that he'd started, he couldn't hang up. "I don't want to do this. I don't want to break up with you. Why... Why did you have to go?"

Pathetic. You're so pathetic. Just hang up.

He totally should hang up. Because the more he spoke, the worse his heart seemed to bleed on the inside, drowning him. It couldn't be healthy to need one person so much, to love one person so much. To hurt so much.

"You should have told me," he whispered into the phone. "I would've done anything for you, but I can't do this. I can't take this when it's tearing me from the inside. I don't want to, but I don't think I can go on. Not like this. I wish... I wish it wasn't over. But it is. Because we're both fucked up." Maybe he shouldn't have said that last bit, but it was true.

And it gave him the strength to end the conversation, shove his phone in his pocket and down two more shots of tequila. His head felt like it was full of wet cotton, his eyes burned and the pain in his chest numbed the slightest bit. Yep, it could be temporarily fixed.

"Aren't you in a bit of a hurry for the after party?"

The voice grated on his nerves and Tom gritted his teeth. He couldn't believe Harry had the nerve to slide in the seat next to him. He was so lucky Tom was half convinced he'd fall on his face if he tried to punch him. So he just threw Harry a halfway glance to make sure he hadn't imagined him.

"Fuck off, Harry."

"Is Sam here?"

"I'd so punch your stupid face in if I wasn't too drunk to move."