The Hunter's Angel

Scotch and Dickwads

I had never really been the type to drink alone.

Sure, I'd have a glass of wine here and there if I was feeling spicy, but generally, alcohol was reserved for parties and nights out.

I never really was a scotch kinda girl either. Reminded me too much of the old man, as it was his drink of choice after a long day.

Tonight, I was both.

A hoarse laugh crawled out my throat as I poured myself a second glass of the amber liquid that I found buried in the back of my liquor cabinet.

The first couple of sips were a bitch to get down, the bitter burn causing me to sputter and cough. After I finished the first half, it started to taste a little better.

And after I finished the second half, I realized I didn't even give a fuck how it tasted. I just wanted to forget.

I wanted to forget all the pain, just for a minute.

I had gotten home hours ago, sobbing harder than I had in a long time. It was like I was letting everything out, letting myself feel all the things I buried deep inside for so long.

The tears had stopped falling when the sun went down, but my eyes were still red-rimmed and blotchy.

I was trying not to think about what had happened, but I couldn't for the life of me understand how Hunter could betray me like that.

To go from scolding me for not being open about my feelings and nearly pleading for a relationship, to inviting some random chick to his place and hooking up with her?

Hell, was she even a random chick? Did that asshole have a girlfriend this whole time?

Not to mention his fake fucking name.

I felt like such an idiot. I let Hunter get in, let him convince me that he was different, that he wasn't going to leave me or cheat just like my...

My father. My poor excuse of a father who was getting married to the woman he fucked up our lives with. Who was starting a new family, ignorant to the one he destroyed.

I had never felt a pain like this in my life. It was like heartbreak combined with grief and every other nasty feeling, shot like a bullet in my chest.

I took a generous sip of the scotch, and then another. I tilted the glass against my lips for a third sip, pausing when I heard a knock at the door.

"Who the fuck is it?" I shouted, not in the mood for anybody's shit.

No answer.

The knocking resumed, this time harder.

Grumbling under my breath, I placed the glass on the island and stomped over to the door.

Not even thinking, I swung it open, snapping, "What do you want-"

My mouth clamped shut.

Hunter stood before me, wearing an expression of guilt on his face. "Layla," he whispered softly.

His eyes fell on mine, and there was no doubt he saw the evidence of my tears. He looked pained as his gaze traced my bloodshot eyes.

Well, fuck him. I didn't need any of his sympathy.

I stepped back, moving to slam the door but he stuck his hand out, stopping me.

Turning around, I walked back into my place, heading straight for the scotch. If he wanted to crash my party, that was fine, but I wasn't wasting another second giving him the time of day.