Heal the Heart

39.

My head pounded under the heavy music as I stumbled through the crowd. Between spending the entirety of last night in a haze of booze and sex and squeezing in more vodka in the evening to wade off the potential hangover before hitting the bar, I was dead on my feet. The impending hangover that I was supposed to be slapped with tomorrow came in early, which would work wonderfully in knocking me out for the night.

I dragged myself to the exit and would've tasted the sultry air looming outside if my eyes hadn't snagged onto the lone body sitting on one of the tables in the corner. Normally, I would've walked right out; drunk patrons weren't my problem, but I knew that mop of hair.

My feet acted before I did and brought me closer. He lifted his head, and my suspicions proved right.

Syama rubbed a hand over his face and lifted the empty tumbler to his lips, frowning when he realised there was nothing in it. I watched as he raised a hand, four fingers jutting out from his fist. He had a don't-come-near-me aura around him that I didn't know he possessed. His eyelids drooped as he pushed away the tumbler and fell face forward on the table.

I waited for someone to come for him. He wouldn't reach home in this state, hell, he probably couldn't stand up with the way his head kept lolling from side to side.

When a server dressed in nothing but a jockstrap and a mesh crop top arrived, bearing four more shots, I didn't bother hiding in the shadows for longer.

I slapped a twenty on the table, and Syama's unfocused eyes shot up. They widened at the sight of me, his mouth turning into an O, but then the fog in his head cleared up, and all it left behind was disappointment.

I took a seat in front of him while he rubbed his eyes.

Sliding one of the shots to my side, I brought it to my lips and finished it in one go, instantly regretting the burn going down my oesophagus.

Gin shooters? Seriously dude?

I stuffed the lemon wedge in my mouth to chase away the taste. This was what I got for trying to be a better person. Why do I even try?

"That's mine," Syama slurred.

"I paid for it."

"Didn't fucking ask you to."

"Consider it an act of charity."

He grunted and tossed back a shot, his face scrunching at the bitterness, but he didn't go for the lemon.

"Do you have someone with you?" I asked.

"Shiven won't leave me alone," he mumbled, head facing down with his floppy hair covering whatever little I could see of his face.

If he had someone with him, then my job here was done. He'd get home safely, and I didn't need it weighing in on my conscience.

He's not your problem, Neil.

"He just won't stop calling," Syama continued, and my momentary relief started to recede. "I even blocked him. But he keeps calling." He shrugged animatedly, his shoulders reaching all the way up to his ears and dropping. "I don't know how."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"He's not here with you?"

"Huh?" Syama squinted, bracing an arm on the table to lean forward. "Why would he be here? I'm hiding from him."

Now, it was my turn to rub at my face. "There must be someone you can—"

Struggling to keep his head up, he asked, "You want to know why I keep bothering you?"