***
Benedict's P.O.V
My hands gripped the leather wheel so hard my knuckles started to turn white. I blinked hard, trying to focus on the road through the water welling up in the corners and bottom of my eyes.
I swerved into my driveway and marched up to my front door where I would fiddle with the keys through the blur of my vision and swing open the door. I ripped my scarf and coat off and threw my briefcase on the floor.
I strode into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. I sat it down on the counter top and when I turned too harshly it knocked over, crashing on the floor. An exasperated yell escapes my mouth and I pound my fist on the table in anger, which soon turned to sadness. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit..." I muttered to myself while shaking my head as I started to clean up the broken glass.
"Fuck," a shard slices the side of my hand and I stood up, cupping the cut with my other hand. I turned on the faucet of the sink and began to wash the blood off under the warm water.
Once the bleeding subsides, I head up to my bedroom and begin to strip off my clothes and turn on the shower. I hopped in and began to wash my body with the heated water. I ran my hands through my hair and then rested my forehead on the shower wall, the water trickling down my back.
I washed my hair and body and the soothing water helped to relax my strained muscles. I shook my head under the stream, turning off the shower.
What have I done?
And
Did I make a mistake?
Continued to run through my thoughts as I dry off and put on sweats. All I can feel is this weight in my chest and I just don't know how to lift it.
After I'd go back downstairs and pour myself a glass of bourbon, I'd hoped the strong alcohol would be able to drown these pestering thoughts.
***
Few hours later...
***
I felt lighter... More or less. As I downed glass after glass, the insistent questions my sub-conscious kept yelling at me, got quiet. I sighed and leaned back on my leather chair, trying to let my mind relax. My eyes felt droopy and when I closed them, there was only one thing I saw.
Hannah.
My eyes shot open and I groaned, running a finger through my dark curls. Who was I to think I could just drink away my problem. If anything, the realization, became emphasized, and was hitting me now in a pounding blur.
I leaned on my side and dug in my sweats pocket to fish out my phone. Instantly, a picture of Hannah and her bright, kind, and beautiful smile popped up.
I hadn't realized I was crying until I rested my head on my hand. I wiped at my face and through the blur of tears and drunkedness, I found Hannah's contact. Without thinking, I instantly started to tap words and send them.
I had sent about five messages(all with no reply) and getting impatient, I decided to call. No answer. My hand fisted into a ball. I just wanted to talk to her, I needed her to know where I was coming from.
I groggily tapped in Hannah's phone number and listened to the rings.
"What?" She picked up! But her voice wasn't her usual warm, welcoming tone. It sounded icy and dry.
