Between The Lines

Chapter 117: On and On

Third Person (lane's pov):

Lane sat on his couch, staring at the nearly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. The amber liquid sloshed lazily as he tilted the bottle back and forth, his mind a foggy blur of thoughts and emotions. He hadn't meant for it to get this bad. Not again. But ever since Rebecca started ignoring him—since she kept her father's promise—everything had spiralled out of control.

He was losing her, and the thought of it tore him apart.

It had been days since she'd last spoken to him outside of class, where she was cold, distant, and every bit the obedient student she pretended to be. He knew she was hurting, but she wouldn't let him in. And the more she shut him out, the more desperate he became. He'd tried to keep it together, but tonight, it was just too much.

The alcohol had become his crutch, his way of drowning out the gnawing ache in his chest. He took another swig from the bottle, feeling the burn slide down his throat, not caring that it was a school night. The usual rules didn't matter anymore. Not when he was falling apart like this.

His living room was a mess. Shards of glass littered the floor, remnants of things he'd thrown in frustration. Frames, bottles—anything within reach had been sacrificed in his fit of rage earlier. But it didn't help. None of it did.

A knock on the door jolted him out of his stupor.

Lane blinked, groggy and confused. He wasn't expecting anyone. For a second, he thought he might have imagined it, but then the knock came again, more insistent this time. He groaned, setting the bottle down and stumbling to his feet, barely managing to stay upright. His vision swayed as he made his way to the door.

When he opened it, he was greeted by the concerned face of his brother, Matt.

"Jesus, Lane..." Matt's eyes widened as he took in the scene—Lane's disheveled appearance, the smashed remnants of what was once his living room, and the unmistakable smell of whiskey that filled the air. "What the hell happened?"

Lane shrugged, leaning against the doorframe for support. "What're you doing here, Matt?" His voice was slurred, and he could barely get the words out without stumbling over them.

"I could ask you the same thing," Matt said, pushing past Lane into the house. He looked around, his frown deepening. "Have you lost your mind? Drinking like this on a school night? You're supposed to be teaching kids, for Christ's sake."

Lane rubbed his face, his eyes bleary. "Yeah, well, it's not like I'm doing a great job of that either."

Matt sighed heavily, crossing his arms. "This is about her, isn't it? Rebecca."

Lane froze, his jaw tightening. "Don't say her name."

Matt's gaze softened, and he took a step closer to his brother. "Lane, you can't keep doing this. Drinking yourself into oblivion, trashing your place—this isn't going to fix anything. You're going to destroy yourself."

Lane's chest heaved as he fought to keep his emotions in check. His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, his voice breaking. "She's ignoring me, Matt. She won't even look at me. And I... I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix it."

Matt shook his head, concern etched on his face. "You can't fix this with alcohol. And you can't keep obsessing over her like this. You need to get help, Lane. Before it's too late."

Lane let out a bitter laugh, wiping a hand across his mouth. "Help? Yeah, right. Like anything can help me now."

Matt grabbed his brother by the shoulders, forcing Lane to look at him. "Snap out of it, man. You're not going to get her back by doing this. If you want to be there for her, you need to pull yourself together."