⇾ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈

𝚅𝙸

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚒𝚡 → 𝚈𝚘𝚔𝚘 𝚟𝚜. 𝙼𝚎

⊹ 𝟷𝟶-𝟷𝟶-𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟽 ⊹

My throat was shredded when my eyes opened the next day, and it burned every time I tried to breathe. I coughed and sat up, trying to remember what had happened last night because my memory was hazy and my head was aching.

"Glad yer awake." My head jerked up to see Paul standing in the doorway with a glass of water in his hand.

"Paul, what bloody happened last night? Did John really—?...for God's sake, I am not crying again!" I said when I felt my throat began to close again.

Paul extended his arm and handed me the glass of water in his hand. "Drink," he said. "Cried all the damn fluid from yer eyes last night, Liss. Bet you're dehydrated as hell."

"Uplifting," I commented as I lifted the glass and took a grateful sip of the water. "Where's Julian?" I asked, my eyes widening when I remembered how I'd treated him last night as we drove over here.

"Downstairs," Paul responded. "He's watching the telly."

"Is he alright?" I asked. "God, I'm so stupid," I added, bringing a hand up to cover my mouth as tears threatened to fall again. "Paul, I left."

"You're not bloody stupid," Paul said, his eyes narrowing angrily. "Alissa, do you remember what he fucking said to you?"

"I just want you to know that I really don't want to be crying right now," I said as my voice cracked and a muffled sob broke free.

"It's okay to cry, Alissa," Paul said. "You've had a tough twenty-four hours."

"To put it mildly," I muttered. "I'm hungry," I said. "Got anything for me to eat?"

"Jane's gonna bring some lunch for us."

My eyes widened. "Lunch? What time is it?"

"Noon," Paul said with a lopsided grin. "Ye were up late last night, Alissa. Figured you needed to sleep in."

"God bless ye, Paul." I smiled gratefully. "Ye didn't tell Jane what happened last night, did ye?"

"What part of last night? The part where you and John shouted at one another, you attacked him, and then came over to my house to cry until you very nearly puked in my guest bed? Better be lucky I had a trashcan in here, sis, because if you'd spoiled these sheets, I might have sent you right back to where you once belonged."

I wrinkled my nose. "How many times did I do that?" I asked.

"Well, the first was before we left your house... the second was right when we got here—all over my damn flowers too, Alissa." He frowned. "The next—hmmm—three times were in here, into that rubbish bin." He pointed to a black, plastic container sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. "You're a ruddy handful, you know that? Cleaned up your vom way too many times for my own liking." He shuddered.