If I hated going to parties with Alex when he was sober, happy and horny, imagine how much I hated going to parties when he was drunk, crazy and... well, still horny.

Yep, you got it. We were at that pretentious club that Miles's friend had opened, called Shot Up, and Alex had inebriated himself to the point where all he needed was a syringe and he'd be right back to where he was a few years ago. I was so fucking pissed at him, I had given up trying to talk to him.

"Keep that frown on all night and you'll need Botox by the time we close this place down," Miles contributed, coming up to me by the bar. I was watching Alex from afar, watching him chat with – you guessed it – some broad with a fake tan and acrylic nails.

"Why is he being like that?" I snapped, gesturing towards him. Miles followed my stare. "I've been trying to talk to him for like two weeks now and he just won't open up. He's been acting weird ever since his birthday."

"Maybe old age got to him," Miles smirked humorously. When he noticed my unamused face, he quickly wiped off his grin and got serious. "Alright, maybe he just needs some time? You know, to get some things straight? You know how he gets sometimes."

"That's just it. If I give him anymore time, he's going to get straight in between that hoe's legs and do what he always does," I snapped, watching with anger as he leaned closer to the busty dullard, clearly giving her the vibe, one that she was wantonly returning. "Excuse me, I need to pull my whore-boyfriend's dick away from that chick's pussy. I'll be right back."

Leaving Miles at the bar, I worked my way through the crowded club until I stood next to Alexander. Without gracing the skank with a look, I grabbed him by his arm. "Excuse me, I'm his personal nurse and I'm here to accompany him everywhere he goes because he's got the craziest case of the syf. Anyone who sleeps with him will wake up with the most serious monster rash and puss-filled blisters all over, so I'd do best and run the fuck away."

The broad just glared at me like I was crazy, but I didn't care. I yanked Alex away who followed me willingly, stumbling over his own feet. "Sooophie-guuuurl..."

"Nah-ah, I'm not 'Sooophie-guuuurl' right now," I snapped at him, dragging him into a quiet corner. I met his drunk, expanded eyes and had to seriously fight the overpowering stench of alcohol that reeked off him. "I'm your concerned friend and girlfriend who's going to ask you for the millionth time; are, you, OK? You're acting as if you've been doping again, and Alex, I swear to God if you have—"

"Sophie," He said, placing his hand on my shoulder. "I'm fiiiiine. I told you already, I'm just so happy to be with yoooou, and I'm enjoying liiiife..." His words were slurred and droopy thanks to the amount of alcohol he had consumed. I gritted my teeth at that.

"Alex, listen, you're not okay, something is clearly wrong, and if you would just talk to me—"

"Do you wanna have sex? I really wanna have sex right now," He interrupted, wobbling a little on his feet. "I know I'm drunk, but I can still fuck you like a pro. There's a handicap bathroom just over ther—"

"ALEX!" I yelled, now losing my cool. I had tried to be patient and hoped he would come to me eventually, I had tried asking carefully, harshly, nicely and now forcefully, but no matter what, he kept on acting like a secretive jerk. It had been two weeks now, and I had had enough. "I'm done with this bullshit you're doing. I don't know if it's just temporary, if it's some kind of phase you're going through, or if it's permanent, but I fucking know I don't like you the way you're acting! You're clearly going through something that you don't want to talk about, but Alex, it's me," I pleaded, cupping his face firmly, making his slurred eyes focus on me. "Just talk to me, please. I'll help you like I have in the past, just let me in!"

"I'll let you in if you'll let me into your panties—"

I slapped him. Lord knows I'd only ever slapped him when he got so insufferable nothing else got through to him. He looked shocked for a short moment, before anger replaced it. He felt his cheek which was already blooming red; I knew how to slap someone properly.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" He snapped, taking a step away from me. "I'm offering you a really fantastic fuck and you slap me? Some girlfriend you are, Soph."

"Are you kidding me?" I flared. "If you want to talk good behavior, maybe try it out first! You're kinda being the biggest jerk right now, and honestly, the worst kind of boyfriend."

"Yeah? Well maybe the problem isn't me," He snapped again, glaring down at me. "Maybe it's you. Here I've been trying to be a great boyfriend, but what about you? You won't even open your fucking legs for a good fuck when I ask you nicely. What's up with that?"

I couldn't have this conversation with him right now. I wanted to rip his goddamn heart out of his chest and have him look at it, just so he could remember what the fuck it meant to have one. He was drunk and I was beginning to suspect high – that would explain his dilated pupils. Alcohol could do that to you, but so could drugs. I didn't want to fight with him when he was like this.

"I'm going home," I told, crossing my arms. "You can get a cab ride home, we'll talk about this tomorrow when you're sober."

"Sure, whatever," Alex scoffed indifferently, waving me off. "Leave, that's real mature. Act like you're the one who's the smartest one of the two of us."

"Right now I am," I snarled, taking a step closer to him. "I'll see you tomorrow, Alexander. Don't suffocate on your coke."

"Fuck you, Soph."

I didn't look back as I stormed out of the club, not even stopping when Miles tried to talk to me. I just strode straight past him, hailed the first cab I found and drove him, fighting the tears in my eyes.

This was exactly what I had been afraid of would happen if we started dating; Alex was closing down on me, drawing away, and he'd wind up breaking my heart. And we wouldn't survive that.

~~~

I hadn't slept much last night. I hated fighting with Alex. I was still too upset about what happened, and frankly, today I was just worried about him when he neither responded nor replied to my texts and calls. It was unusual for him, even for when we were fighting. Usually he would text me back, even if it was just angry profanities. He would outlive God trying to get the last word in heated conversations, so why wasn't he replying this time?

I needed to go check if he was home. I had been up for hours, taking a quick shower, getting dressed, the usual stuff. It was almost 10am, so it was decent to go over and knock on his door now. Not that either of us had ever stuck to the formalities of do's and don't's when it came to neighbor-etiquette, but still. Just in case his mom was home.

So I walked downstairs, said good morning to my parents, popped on my shoes and walked outside. It was a beautiful day with white clouds and a blue sky. Birds were chirping, but something in the air seemed wrong, and it only seemed to intensify as I neared Alex's house.

I told myself I was just being silly and kept walking. We had had our first serious fight as a couple and now we just had to talk about it – talk it through. We wouldn't crack and break up after just one fight, we were stronger than that.

At least you are, a snippy voice in my head said as I stepped up on his front porch. I grimaced at my thought, not really knowing where that came from. I could trust Alex. It was Alex, after all, no matter how bad he got sometimes.

But as I reached for the doorknob, omitting the knocking-part, I suddenly froze. I didn't know why. My hand just froze over the knob of his front door and I just stared.

I got a horrible feeling in my gut. Like... nausea. Or maybe just the urge to vomit. In any case, my heart was pounding and my throat was closing. It was as if I could sense it even before I walked in.

Finally, I pulled myself together and told myself to confront the sight I somehow knew would meet me when I passed the threshold. Don't ask me how I knew, maybe because this just seemed all too familiar; the showing up early in the morning, coming to help him hide the evidence. But I knew as I walked in, there wouldn't be any hidden evidence. It would be right there to slap me in the face.

So I prepared myself for the hit and opened the door. I stepped inside and just like that, I felt it; The slap hit me in the form of a strong alcoholic scent, poisoning my nose, blood and soul. My hands started shaking as I walked down the entrée, now knowing with certainty what would also certainly hit me as I walked into the living room.

Yet even so, I felt my heart stop. The blow hurt fatally.

The furniture was pushed around. Vases were knocked over, beer bottles and other alcoholic beverages laid scattered around on the floor, staining the wooden floorboards. The pungent smell of smoke also tainted the air and made me grimace, but not because I couldn't stand the smell, but because my eyes had fallen to the ashtray on the ground and most importantly, a pair of screaming pink panties that laid next to it – a pair of panties that didn't belong to me and never would.

He was sitting on the couch, palming his face. I knew he knew I was there, he was breathing slow and heavily, almost as if to calm himself down, knowing what he had done. Because he knew it – as did I.

And yet even despite all the evidence on the floor around him and the fact that he knew I also knew, he still felt the need to say it – the words I didn't need to hear, but was the last evidence I needed to confirm the cruel truth.

"Sophie, I fucked up."

• • •

I can already feel you guys hating me, but what can I say? I'm a heartbreaker.