29 year old Sarah Collins is still hurting over something that happened almost 4 years ago.
When David Morris, the person she blames for it all shows up back in her life, she is forced to try and forgive and move on.
This story is rated mature. T...
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I drop JJ off at Sam's before going back to David's. Something tells me that his relationship with his father is the 'complicated' James always talked about.
I only interacted with the man for a few minutes, and let me tell you, he is a piece of work. I am nervous for what I am about find.
I open the door and see David on the couch, his eyes staring at something. The whole living room was a mess and I could smell the liquor.
"Oh, David." I whisper and join him on the couch. I wipe the tears streaming down his face. "How much did you drink?"
"Not enough" He slurs.
"Honey, there are empty beer bottles every where and an empty Jack Daniels bottle." I say as I rub his back.
He flinches from my touch, "Don't touch me." He barks.
"What happened?" I ask after taking a deep breath.
"A lot." He snaps back at me.
"Clearly." I say quietly.
"What are you even doing here?!" He asks.
"I came to check on you, I figured you would need someone."
"I don't need anyone."
"You don't mean that." I argue softly.
"Don't tell me what I do and don't mean." He snaps before looking at the picture again. "My dad is right. We shouldn't be doing this to James. We shouldn't be together."
My body freezes momentarily at his words. I choose to ignore him. My eyes find the mess he made that's scattered around his apartment.
This is something I can control.
I start gathering up the mess. The only sounds I hear is the clinking of the bottles and my heartbeat in my ears.
"Sarah, did you hear me?" David raises his voice.
"Yes, but this isn't going to be a conversation we have when your pissed off your ass." I says as calmly as possible as I throw the bottles away in the kitchen.
The counter is filthy too.
I take out a rag and put it under the hot water, letting it make my hands burn before putting some dish soap on it.
I start scrubbing the counter.
"You're in denial." He accuses as he gets off the couch and charges into the kitchen. He stands across from me and leans his arms on the counter— the one I am attempting to clean.
