A Touch Of Sin [BxB]

11.

u can probably tell but I post these as soon as I finish writing them. sorry about the mistakes

Jake's POV:

I tug at my hair, hoping the physical pain will somehow distract me from the catastrophe that is my mind. I could barely comprehend Callum and Rhett together, despite everything and now this...

"You look like you've seen better days," a middle-aged lady with eyes too harsh says to me, arching a drawn-on eyebrow. "What will you be having?"

Leaning onto the bar, I tap my fingers as my eyes search the shelves. This place is too loud, the bar too sticky and the people here too drunk for a Sunday night but none of that matters. Does anything matter anymore?

"Rum," I mutter, my throat so raw, that single word burns to speak.

"Girl troubles?" she probes as she slides it over to me.

I snatch it from the bar, ignoring her. I take in my surroundings, observing the girls drunkenly dancing near the band and the creepy old men watching them with wicked gleams. I hate that I'm here.

My phone vibrates against my leg. Hating myself for it, I yank it out, to see if it's Callum, even after everything.

Spud: How you doing, mate?

Jake: Want to get fucked up?

Spud: Where?

Jake: The Grill

Spud: On my way.

My phone slides into my back pocket and I decide that's where it will stay for the rest of the night. I take another sip and realise I've reached the end already.

"More," I choke out.

The bartender has given up trying to get a response from me. She silently swaps my card for the rum. The coolness of the alcohol somewhat soothes my throat, but every swallow feels like fire. My eyes are aching from crying. I've never cried before – not until Callum. He's made me weak.

A few minutes later, Spud wanders in.

"Hey bud," he greets me with a handshake. "What're you drinking?"

I nod to my glass.

"I'll have what he's having," Spud says, throwing money onto the bar top. "Dude," he turns to me. "I overheard what went down. That was fucked up."

"I know."

"Callum is bi?" he questions curiously.

"Didn't think so but who fucking knows with him anymore," I sigh and wince at the pain in my throat. Apparently sobbing so hard you feel like you could pass out has bad side effects on the body.

"I really thought he was one of the good ones, man," Spud shakes his head, before thanking the lady serving us. "Didn't see that coming. Don't know him from a bar of soap but he just didn't seem like the type."

"He isn't," I instantly defend him and scold myself. "Well, so I thought."

"Let's forget about him, anyway. He's old news," Spud slaps his hand on my shoulder.

"Touché."

I let myself think of him one last time. The gorgeous eyes, the sharp jawline, the kind smile. My mind savours the image of him one final time before I shove him to the back of my mind into a pile I don't wish to visit for a long, long time.

We move from the bar and find a table near the back. It's a good spot, close to the bar, far enough from the band that you can semi-talk and have a good view of what's going on. I perch my elbow over the seat and lean back, observing everything around me. The later the night gets, the busier it is. I've come to realise people here party non-stop.