Already Broken by JP Murray

Author:JP Murray [Murray, JP]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-14T00:00:00+00:00

chapter fifteen

Anderson

I finished the painting that Phil had been pressuring me to complete. It was just after midnight, but I was too amped up to sleep. I wasn’t used to being sober anymore. Ed said it was natural to struggle with sleep and had been prescribed a mild sleep aid. He wouldn’t give me anything stronger and suggested I take a walk when I couldn’t sleep. So that’s what I was fucking doing. The night air was crisp as I stepped out into the dark and turned south, planning to do a few blocks, then go home and try to sleep again.

My white sneakers flashed in the streetlights thanks to all the white paint I splattered on them. I couldn’t stop thinking about Trent, but the phone in my pocket pulled my attention. Its rounded edges bulging against my pants. I pulled it out and flicked it open to the picture of Elan. His face was pressed up against mine in the photo, our smiles wide and even. My eyes twinkled in a way they hadn’t in a long time, but I was feeling that spark again.

Didn’t have a photo of Trent, but I didn’t need one. I had etched his eyes on my mind. His broad shoulders and narrow hips, his thick arms and strong hands. I remembered it all. It was fresh and perfect.

So, when I saw a figure step out of the nightclub less than two blocks away, I knew immediately who it was. My stomach roiled as I watched a smaller man drape himself across Trent’s chest like he belonged there.

All the air left my lungs as I watched a cab pull up to the curb and Trent move the obviously drunk man toward the door.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I spun on my heel and ran. My feet slapped the pavement. The beat was the same as my heart beating in my chest. I was wrong. Wrong about everything.

I knew I shouldn’t have assumed it was more than a fling. Had he lied? It didn’t matter.

I crashed back through the door to my apartment and flung open every cupboard, pulling everything out of the linen closet. Thankfully Phil hadn’t found the bottle of rum in the back of the closet.

I uncapped it, letting the lid fall to the floor, and straightened myself. The bottle was cold in my hand and I stared at it for a long minute, trying to decide if I really wanted to drink it.

“Fuck it,” I said, bringing the bottle to my lips and letting the cold liquid burn a path down my throat to my stomach where it sloshed in a blaze of embers that burned away the pain that had roared up when I saw Trent with the other man.

I drank another big swallow and turned my attention back to the blank canvases that Phil had propped up against the wall. My legs carried me over to them almost against my will. I took another deep swallow and then grabbed one canvas, setting it up on the low easel.

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