Indisputably Yours

53.

The house was quiet when I returned from work. Too quiet. Tristan wasn't back yet. Relief washed over me, but it wasn't the kind of relief that lasted. It was temporary, a momentary reprieve from the tension that had been hanging between us. I was glad to be alone, but at the same time, that emptiness felt heavy, like something was missing.

I shrugged off my coat, notwithstanding, and kicked off my shoes. Each step toward the stairs felt heavier than the last, as if I was sinking into the floor. I was so drained, so exhausted that my body ached with every movement. All I wanted was the hot embrace of a shower to wash away the weight of the day—and maybe, just for a moment, the suffocating reality of everything that had become my life.

The bedroom was exactly as I'd left it, empty. I barely glanced at it before making my way to the bathroom. The scalding water in the shower was a brief solace. The heat seared into my skin, grounding me. I closed my eyes, letting it wash over me and loosen the knots in my muscles.

Afterward, I pulled one of my old baggy t-shirts over my head and padded down the stairs. The cool air against my damp skin was refreshing. I headed to the kitchen, suddenly feeling a craving for something cold and sweet. A smoothie. Yes, that would do it.

I moved mechanically through the kitchen, pulling out strawberries, a banana, and almond milk. As I gathered everything onto the counter and made my mix, my thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the woman in Ward 7. There was something about her that tugged at the edges of my memory, like a half-remembered dream. I had seen her before, I was certain of it, but no matter how hard I tried to place her, the memory slipped away like smoke through my fingers.

The loud whiz of the blender buzzed in the background, a strange comfort in the otherwise quiet house. I watched as the blades whirred, reducing the fruit to a smooth, sweet mixture. It was a distraction, drowning out the chaos that buzzed in my head.

When the blending stopped, I turned to fetch a glass from one of the cabinets, but as I reached for the door, I heard an unexpected loud crash echo from the living room.

I froze mid-air, my heart lurching in my chest.

A low grunt followed, sharp and pained. Then came a second crash, louder this time, and Tristan's voice—cursing, slurred and rough—rang through.

My stomach twisted in knots. I quickly rushed out of the Kitchen and rounded the corner to the living room, but the sight I met made my heart clench.

Ryder grunted, struggling to keep Tristan's barely conscious form from collapsing completely. One arm was wrapped tight around his body, holding him up, while the other gripped his jacket and bag.

My chest tightened painfully as I took it all in. He was wasted, his body limp, swaying as if it had forgotten how to stand. He wasn't just a little tipsy, but completely out of it. The kind of drunk that made me sick to my stomach just looking at him.

And the stench. Oh God. The sharp stench of alcohol hit me like a wave, sour and bitter, filling the room with its heavy, choking presence.

"How could you let this happen?" I asked, my voice trembling as I stepped forward, my gaze darting between them. "Why did you let him get like this?"

Ryder's face was a tight mask, unreadable. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Tristan swayed dangerously and almost toppled over. Without thinking, I lunged forward, grabbing his arm to help steady him before he fell flat on his face.

He slumped against me, his weight pressing down on me with alarming heaviness. And then, to my complete shock, he nuzzled into my neck, inhaling deeply. "Sienna..." he slurred, his voice thick with drunken affection. A goofy grin spread across his lips. "You smell... mmmm... daisies."