Getting The Guy

Chapter 31: The Things You Do

Song: Clarity

Artistes: Zedd ft. Foxes

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A rush of cold liquid scorches my throat as I chug on the dark defined dew covered glass bottle.

This was my fourth drink and I was beginning to feel lightheaded and a little queasy. I know I'm going to regret my actions later on when the sweet rush of catecholamine secretion is gone. But right now, that was the last thing on my mind.

I can't believe he used me.

I greedily gulped down another mouthful of the bittersweet beer.

He said I was his friend.

He claimed that he cared about me.

But it was all a lie.

I swallow another large sip.

He didn't truly care about me. I was just another pawn of his in a sick, manipulative game of checkers. He was executing all of the big moves, and I? I was stuck as a minority.

It has been a little over thirty minutes since I've last seen any sign of Dontae. And as selfish as it sounded, I kind of hoped that I wouldn't have to see him ever again until the next lifetime.

Screw that. I didn't want to see a wink of his face or his body. Nor his beautiful set of brown eyes that always seem to make me fumble and stumble awkwardly whenever he glances in my direction. Not in this life or if there's a next. And certainly not in the afterlife... if that exists.

That stupid, no good, good-looking son of a big beautiful businesswoman was an ass and I just can't believe I let him play me the way he did.

I guess all playboys do is play afterall.

I couldn't explain it, but my heart was in pain. After what happened tonight... it felt like my heart was just now feeling the heavy aftereffects of the hurt that Dontae inflicted in me.

I wouldn't mind if someone came up to me and ripped my heart from my ribcage. Maybe then, the ropes dragging the heavy burdens on my shoulders could snap and I would finally be put out of my misery right here, right now.

I lifted the bottle to my bright, guava pink, lipstick smudged lips. Tilting the glass upwards and swallowing the last drops of the tangy concoction when someone plopped down on the tall, leather clad stool situated a few feet to my left.

Too caught up in my feelings to spare a glance at the imposter, I slammed the damp, unfilled beer glass onto the fancy, marble countertop residing in the centre of the lavish kitchen and began chugging on another bottle.

I was very content with ignoring the person sitting next to me. But for some reason, even in my half drunken state of mind, I was still forced to be a victim to the taunts and alarming screams of my hyper-aware mind.

There was also this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach urging me to listen to my mind's taunts.

So I took one quick glance at the intruder to put my distressed mind at ease.

But boy did I regret it.

What was meant to be a simple glance turned into a wide-eyed, terrified stare as a pair of bright, familiar, emerald green eyes froze me in place.

Holy. Mackerel.

This was not happening.

No.

This was all a dream.