The Charade

Chapter 5

Pierre frowned "What do you mean you quit?"

David just laughed sarcastically; like it was fucking rocket science.

"I fucking quit" David repeated, his voice cracking from the strain on his vocal chords. "Jai, arête!"

"You quit?" Pierre repeated "You're quitting the band?"

David laughed nodding his head "I quit the band, I quit you, I quit fucking everything, Pierre"

David turned on his heel and Pierre grabbed his shoulder again.

"David!"

I told you he's a liar

David shrugged him off and walked out, digging his car keys out of his pocket.

He drove home thinking he would feel more liberated after yelling at Pierre, but it just pissed him off even more.

David let himself in his apartment and slammed the door behind him.

He went straight to one of the cupboards and found the vodka, it wasn't as much as he thought, but it would do.

Getting himself a glass from the dishwasher David settled on the couch. He put the empty glass down on the table and drank straight from the bottle instead.

The liquid burned as it ran down his throat, drinking with a hoarse throat probably wasn't a smart idea, but David did it anyway.

David's phone rang in his pocket and he ignored it, he knew who it would be and he wasn't going to apologize for anything.

He drank more, the lines between the smart thing to do and the right thing becoming increasingly blurred.

David dug his phone out of his pocket, by this time he'd had four missed calls.

The voice in David's head was louder than ever. He ignored it enough, tonight it was in charge.

He scrolled through his contacts and found the number he was looking for.

He had given Pierre all the fucking chances in the world to tell her and he still hadn't; he was going to do it for him.

He punched the talk key and brought the phone to his ear. It rang once, then twice and then three times before she picked up.

"Hello?"

David didn't answer

"Hello?" She asked again

He hung up and sighed.

Half a minute later, his phone rang in his hand.

David looked down at the screen and sighed, it was her; David hadn't blocked his phone number from caller ID.

Fuck.

He answered the call, but said nothing, just brought the phone to his ear.

"Calling to apologize?"

Pierre.

Fuck fuck

"No," David slurred "I'm gonn' tell her the truth about you"

Pierre just laughed "Oh you were, huh?"

"Don't fucking condescend to me" David snapped

"David, you're drunk"

"So what?"

"So you don't know what the fuck you're talking about, you're not thinking straight"

"I'm thinking just fine!" David raised his voice a little louder "You're a fucking liar Pierre, you don't fucking love me, you probably never did!"

"Of course I do!"