*Your P.O.V.*
It was a Saturday night, and as usual, I found myself seated on a bar stool next to Rocky. Now don't get the wrong idea, we're just friends, as much as that pains me to say. I had grown up with the Lynches, so they were all like siblings to me. All but one. I just didn't have the brotherly love for Rocky as I did for the other guys. It was different with him. I've had a crush on him since before puberty. And boy did that treat him well.
He would take me to bars on the weekend to get a drink. And to my dismay, 80% of the time he would leave me to go have a one night stand. I honestly don't know why I even go with him anymore. Am I really that desperate for at least some of his attention? I guess so. What sucked the worst is he would have me help him pick a girl. According to him, I'm a better judge of character than he is and he trusts me to pick someone of his taste.
Not only have I been friend zoned, I've been demoted to wingman.
Someone just fucking kill me now.
I was drinking a can of soda, since I knew I would have to drive myself home that night. Rocky had just downed his third shot of tequila. We had only been there for an hour. "Rocky, don't you think you might wanna slow down?" I suggested as he tipped the glass upside down on the table.
"Don't worry, (Y/N). I'm a man, I can hold my alcohol," he laughed as he set a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Why don't you have a drink?"
"Nah, I'm good," I muttered, tracing the top of my Coke can.
"What's wrong, (Y/N)? You've been spacing all night," he asked, leaning closer to me so I could hear him over the loud music and talking. His elbows rested on the counter as he looked at me with concern in his eyes.
"I'm ok, Rocky," I responded vaguely, breaking eye contact with him.
"That's a lie. I know you better than that," he scolded me. He kept our close proximity as he continued to grill me.
"You wouldn't understand," I whispered.
"What was that?" he pushed.
"Nothing. Just drop it please," I pleaded with him. He backed up, seeming upset.
"Fine," he sighed. He waved the bartender over and ordered another shot. Once he got it, it was gone as fast as it showed up. "I'm gonna go dance. Feel free to join me instead of sitting here moping."
His words stung hard. Tears filled my eyes as he made his way to the middle of the floor. I had made him upset, so that was his way of getting back at me—shutting off and going cold. He did that sometimes when he was drunk.
I'm sick of this.
I'm going home.
I paid the bartender for my soda and Rocky's shots. I left a tip, thanked him, and started heading out. Rocky can take an Uber or ride home with another one of his hookups. I'm tired and just wanna go home. I soon got out to my car and drove home, ready to curl up in my bed and never come out.
-The Next Day-
It was currently 11 am, and I've yet to get out of bed. I was too upset from last night. I hate it when Rocky lashes out like that. It hurts, but on the other hand, I know I've hurt him in some way when he does that. I know we have to talk and figure out what's going on, but I really don't want to move. But nothing I want ever happens because as that thought rolled by, I heard the doorbell ring.
Just play dead, they'll go away.
It was silent for a few seconds, so I had thought that my tactic had worked. The sound of the door opening moments later made me think otherwise.
