章 89: SCARS

I sighed, tipping the Smirnoff bottle to my lips for what felt like the hundredth time. I'd lost count long ago. Drinking dulled everything—the pain, the anger, the suffocating emptiness. But my tolerance was getting ridiculous. No matter how much I drank, I rarely got drunk anymore.

Last night was the lowest I’d sunk. I stared down at my hands, the faint sting from the cuts still lingering. Both palms bore shallow, angry lines I’d carved into them with a kitchen knife. I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I swear I wasn’t. It was the pain, the unbearable ache in my chest, and the suffocating loneliness. I didn’t know what else to do.

But it wasn’t happening again. I promised myself that much.

The screen of my phone lit up on the coffee table, Quan’s name flashing across it. For a moment, I thought about ignoring it. But I sighed and picked it up, pressing it to my ear.

“Hello,” I muttered, my voice scratchy.

“Uh... hey, Ches,” Quan said, his tone hesitant. “How are you?”