A Scarlett Ruin

Chapter Twelve

Julian held onto the phone after he hung up, heart pumping in his chest in a way he attributed to the brisk air, and waited until the screen went black. Then he pressed the edge against his cheek. He only managed one gulp, lips wrapped around the bottle end, glass either having never existed or long forgotten, before the phone began buzzing away.

Making a face at the sensation, he yanked it away from his face before placing it gently on top of the bottle that he had propped on his lap. He watched it ring and found himself scowling at the sight. Scarlett. That's all it said. He found himself viciously wishing there were hundreds of people listed under that name in his phone. Imagined telling her that he'd had no idea it was her over another girl. Really there was no surname – could've been anyone.

The truth of the matter was he only had one Scarlett in his phone. And it only served to annoy him further.

When the ringing died out, he shoved the phone off the bottle, letting it land carelessly on the window sill beside him. It was done quite purposefully despite the carelessness of the action. It was all about telling things where they belonged. And the bottle of whiskey definitely deserved a higher place as he took another swig. It had long lost its burn; somewhere back on a different bottle with Mason in a party full of ball gowns and too tight ties. Julian was sloppy with it, the drink spilling over his chin.

He was just brushing the sleeve of his jumper over the sticky mess when the phone began buzzing again.

Almost thoughtfully this time, he looked over and picked it up slowly, putting the bottle to the side momentarily. There was no point looking at the screen now. He knew who it was, and the knowledge had a burning sensation starting up in the pit of his stomach that mixed seamlessly with the alcohol sloshing about.

Wasn't it bad enough that he'd already called her? There was an embarrassing small amount of numbers programmed into his phone, and still he'd called her. That wasn't what he did. Especially not in moments like these; too drunk to lie and too tired to be mean. He'd lowered himself to asking if she'd come over, even though he remembered on some level that it was impossible.

Watching as the phone rang down in his hand, Julian realized that the burning in his stomach was anger. Pure, burning anger. It went well with whiskey from his experience.

Julian Chase didn't ask for things. He demanded them, no Chase merely asked for something. It wasn't in their DNA.

Leaning forwards suddenly had him giving a precious wobble on the ledge, feet hitting the stone. He was only saved by the hand he slapped against the window pane. Instead of being scared, he gave a wild laugh that bubbled out from the pit of his stomach. And he was only slightly more careful as he leaned forwards this time, looking between his sock clad feet dangling out the window.

As the phone vibrated in his hand, Julian held the phone out in a loose grip, no longer feeling the winter breeze. It was a long drop; four stories down to the cobbled stone path that lead into the perfectly groomed garden. Simple and decisive. Julian thought it was a better fate than actually answering.

It finally stopped with the incessant ringing, and, with a sigh, he reigned in the urge to lob it down at the stone.

That was until it began to ring again only a second later. There was no patience left in him, and definitely no hesitation. So without a blink, he tossed the fucking thing over his shoulder instead, sending it into the depths of the room. Vaguely he hoped it hit that atrocious antique chest of drawers on the opposite wall. It felt fitting.

When he took his next gulp, he was a bit more careful, gripping the bottle tightly in his fist. Only a single drop escaped his mouth. Julian didn't bother to wipe it away.