ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪᴠᴀʟꜱ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴀᴄᴛ

₀₁₆

𝘞𝘙𝘌𝘕 𝘑𝘈𝘔𝘌𝘚

THERE'S A HALF EMPTY BOTTLE of whiskey laying beside me. There's a few empty nips thrown on the floor. I don't know where Puff is. But I need her.

I don't know what happened.

I walked in from the coffee shop. I put my things down. Looked at my paintings on the wall. Thought about Rhys. Rhys and his compliment. Rhys and his jacket. Rhys and his stupid, perfect face. Rhys and the hate I should have for him.

I thought about the voicemail I listened to in the cab.

I roll over and grab the bottle, take a few more sips and decide that's enough. For now. I throw the bottle away from me; suddenly disgusted with myself. This girl is not me. This girl can rot in fucking hell.

I lay my head back on the floor, then I stretch my arms out, my fingers skimming something sharp. I pry my eyes open and register the shattered whiskey bottle, I register the pain second.

The pain in my hand and fingers. I lift my hands up to my face, a drop of red hits my face and I flinch. I fucking flinch and that hurts more than the pain. After years and years of building up a wall around my mind and my heart, i'm the one to break it. And I break it when i'm at my lowest; drunk.

The sound of a text message rings in my ears. I swipe my phone off the couch.

𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙨𝙚: 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙯𝙚𝙡𝙨
𝙢𝙖𝙭 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙝𝙚'𝙨 𝙖 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙛

My bloody fingers slide across my phone screen and I send whatever it types out.

𝙢𝙚: 𝙬𝙧𝙝𝙗𝙙𝙝𝙤𝙙𝙗
𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙨𝙚: ?

I toss my phone aside and lay my head back down. The pressure in my chest and head are making the room spin and my eyelids are heavy. So so heavy.

__________

The sound of knocking enters one ear and travels out the other. But then it enters again. And again. I claw at my face. Then my ears when the knocking doesn't stop. I pick up an empty nip bottle and throw it at the door-or where I think it is-as hard as I can. When the plastic connects with the door, the knocking stops. The creak of the door opening invades my mind.

"James?" The voice is familiar, but my mind is swimming with every possible sound. Then I hear it again. "James? Where are you?"

The person must see me, because I hear hurried footsteps making their way toward me. Then I feel a hand on my wrist, and then fingers pushing on my neck. The hand cradles my cheek.

"Open your eyes." The voice states. It's not a beg-or a pled, it's an order. My eyes have trouble, but after a second they flutter open.

Dark messy hair, strong cheekbones, pointy nose, big lips, and wide stormy eyes. Eyebrows drawn together-almost as if they're worried. Then when the eyes roam my face, they settle into a gated expression.

"What happened?" I know this voice.

"Rhys?"

There's a pause.

"Rhys." He confirms.

I bring a heavy hand to his face. It seems like every muscle in his body tenses. Even more so when I caress a thumb over his eyebrow. I sigh, "Rhys."

"What happened?" He removes my hand from his face and examines it.

"Alcohol." I feel disgusted with myself all over again.

"What happened to your hands? And your face?" His eyes are back on my face.

"Glass. Stupidity." My eyes fall closed again.

Without missing a beat, two strong hands lift me up. And i'm floating. I feel light, and free; warm too. But then it all crashes down on me when i'm placed on the couch. I feel heavy, and caged; cold.

My hair is pushed off my forehead and tucked behind my ears. Footsteps get further away and stay there for a while. Cabinets open and close and I press myself further into the couch.

Soon after that, the footsteps are closer again, and the couch dips beside me. A hand finds it's way to my cheek and then a cold towel brushes over my cheek. I burrow further into the couch.

"Don't do that. Look at me." The hand comes under my chin and I open my eyes.

"Good girl. What happened?" Rhys cleans up my cheeks.

"I don't know." I'm surprised by the softness in my voice so I repeat it. "I don't know."

"Okay. It's okay." The hand on my cheek moves to flatten my hair, I lean into the touch.

He swaps out the towel for another one and brings it to my fingers. They sting. God, they sting. But I don't flinch. I don't do anything. Until he moves onto the palm of my hand and I wince. Fuck.

"Shh. I know. I know." His hand in my hair grasps the back of my head and leans me onto his shoulder.

I breathe in his scent. He smells like fresh laundry and cologne. I nuzzle my nose into the crook of his neck and he slides his hand from my head to my back, rubbing soothingly up and down.

"How long ago since this last happened?" His voice rumbles in his throat and I feel the words on my nose that's pressed into his neck.

"Last year." There's a harshness to my voice when I remember the night last year. The worst and best day of that year. The one involving Rhys.

"Fuck." He mumbles, it's barely audible, but even drunk; I catch it. And I catch something else too. "I'm sorry."

The stinging fades away and all that's left is me and him. Me and Rhys.

____________________