Chapter Eighteen
The bass thumped against Aria's chest like a heartbeat, drowning out every coherent thought. The club was alive with energy—people dancing, lights flashing in chaotic patterns, the air thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat. She sat at the bar, another glass of something strong in her hand. She couldn't remember if it was whiskey or vodka, but it didn't matter anymore. It burned going down, and that's all she cared about.
The weight of the last few weeks pressed down on her, suffocating and relentless. Every revelation about James, about Caleb, about herself felt like a fresh wound. And Ethan—Ethan was both her anchor and her undoing. Being around him made her feel safe, but it also reminded her of how much was at stake, how much she had to lose.
She threw back the drink, wincing as it scorched her throat. The bartender raised an eyebrow but said nothing, sliding another glass her way. She didn't bother thanking him.
"I'll stop when I'm numb," she muttered under her breath, lifting the glass to her lips.
But numbness didn't come. Instead, she felt every ounce of pain, every ounce of guilt, rising to the surface. James's face flashed in her mind, his laughter from that night, his nervous glances, and then the way he looked when they found him—still, lifeless, gone.
Aria slammed the glass down harder than she meant to, drawing a few glances from the people nearby. She ignored them, motioning for another drink.
"Maybe I should've stayed away," she whispered to herself, the words slurring slightly. "Maybe I should've left this whole thing buried."
But she hadn't. And now it was unraveling her.
---
By the time the night began to bleed into morning, Aria could barely keep herself upright. She stumbled from the bar, swaying as she made her way toward the exit. The world spun around her, the flashing lights disorienting.
"Hey, miss, you okay?" a voice called, but she waved it off, mumbling something incoherent.
Outside, the crisp air hit her like a slap, but it did little to clear her head. She leaned against the cold brick wall of the club, closing her eyes. The world was still spinning, and her legs felt like jelly.
"Aria."
The sound of her name was sharp and commanding, cutting through the haze in her mind. She opened her eyes, blinking as a tall figure strode toward her. Ethan.
His face was a mixture of worry and frustration, his jaw clenched tight. He was still in the clothes he'd been wearing when she left his apartment earlier—jeans and a gray sweater—but now they were slightly rumpled, as if he hadn't slept.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, stopping in front of her.
"Drinking," she said with a bitter laugh, swaying slightly. "Isn't it obvious?"
Ethan's eyes narrowed. "You look like you're about to collapse."
"Maybe I am." She shrugged, her voice laced with defiance. "What's it to you?"
Ethan stepped closer, his hand reaching out to steady her. His grip on her arm was firm but not rough, his touch grounding. "It's everything to me, Aria. What were you thinking? Coming out here alone, drinking yourself into oblivion? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"
She laughed again, but it was hollow. "Dangerous? You want to talk about danger? My whole life is a mess, Ethan. I can't fix it. I can't... I can't fix anything."
Her voice cracked, and suddenly the defiance melted away, replaced by tears.
Ethan's expression softened, though his jaw was still tight. "You don't have to fix it all on your own," he said quietly.
She shook her head, the tears spilling freely now. "I don't even know where to start."
Ethan sighed, his frustration giving way to something deeper. Without another word, he slipped his arm around her waist, guiding her away from the wall. "Come on. You're coming home with me."
Aria tried to protest, but the alcohol had sapped her strength. She leaned against him as he led her to his car, her head resting against his shoulder.
---
Back at Ethan's apartment, he helped her inside, his movements careful but purposeful. He guided her to the couch, easing her down before disappearing into the kitchen.
When he returned, he was holding a glass of water and a couple of aspirin. "Here," he said, handing them to her.
She took them wordlessly, her hands trembling slightly.
Ethan crouched in front of her, his dark eyes locked onto hers. "Aria, I need you to listen to me," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "I know you're hurting. I know this is hard. But this... what you did tonight? This isn't the answer."
She looked away, guilt creeping in. "I didn't know what else to do," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Then you come to me," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You don't run off to a bar and drink yourself into a stupor. You come to me, and we figure it out together."
His words broke something inside her. She looked at him, tears streaming down her face. "I don't know how to let you in," she confessed.
Ethan reached up, brushing a tear from her cheek. "Then let me show you how," he said softly.
There was something in his voice, something steady and unwavering, that made her believe him. For the first time in weeks, she felt a flicker of hope.
Ethan leaned closer, his forehead resting against hers. "We're going to get through this, Aria. You and me. But you have to trust me. Can you do that?"
She nodded, her voice trembling. "I'll try."
"That's all I need," he said.
For a moment, they stayed like that, the world outside fading away. In that small, quiet space, Aria felt something she hadn't felt in a long time: safe.
And as Ethan pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly agai
nst him, she realized that maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to face it all alone.