His P.O.V
Light from the setting sun bled through the half-drawn curtains, casting uneven shadows across the room. The amber glow hit the side of my face where I sat, drowning my aggravation in the slow burn of bourbon.
The glass in my hand felt cold, but the liquor scorched a familiar path down my throat, numbing everything else.
I thought I was going to win over her. Possess her like a mere object in my palm she is, crush her gradually and enjoy doing it.
Though, lately the plan isn't going so well. It's like things backfire at me every turn since she walked into my life that night. Or should I say, sped.
I am gonna have to deal with her soon.
My phone buzzed again. And again. For the nth time!
That insipid debutante—what the hell was her name? Ah, right. Ariadne.
Each notification that popped up on the screen was another reminder of the ridiculously poor decision I'd made.
A whim of derision, a fleeting moment of recklessness, and now I had this incessant Barbie bimbo clinging to me from morning to goddamn night.
The buzzing stopped, I let out a breath of relief, rubbing the temple in hopes to coax the growing head ache out of me that seemed to have taken it's roots inside my head like a frigging desert plant. Deep and sucking me dry.
The punch line-- I've never gotten a head ache before in all my life. Never knew I was even capable of those humanly things.
My phone blared with an incoming call.
That's it.
I snatched the phone off the table without glancing at the caller ID and snapped, all the pent-up frustration of the past few weeks spilling over.
"Bitch, listen to me! If you text me or call me one more time, I swear your fucking daddy will find your fingers in his damn meatballs! Ariadne, I'm telling you—"
"Oh, come on, dude!" a male voice groaned through the receiver. Ariadne is many annoying thing. But she is far from masculine in any shape or form.
"I just had meatballs for lunch. Now I wanna puke my guts out inside my car."
My entire body went still.
Fuck.
Not this guy.
As if my life was going smooth, the other proverbial shoe was bound to drop any moment.
This guy is that proverbial shoe for me. As for the record, my life's always been a shit show.
I closed my eyes, inhaling sharply as my grip tightened around the glass. Any ounce of relaxation I might have gained from my drink evaporated instantly.
My jaw clenched as I straightened up, forcing my voice to flatten into a cold, detached tone. "Ashton."
"Rome," he replied, drawing out my name like he was savoring the sound of it. "That was quite the welcome. Who was the poor soul about to meet such a tragic end? Ariadne, huh?"
There was a beat of silence before he added, almost lazily, "Is that what she's called?"
Something in the way he said it made me pause. My muscles locked, my mind racing. No. There's no way. He couldn't know.
He must be referring to the girl I was yelling at. Just a coincidence.
"Get your nose out of my fucking business and tell me why the hell you called me," I growled, my patience thinning by the second.
"Relax, bro. I just wanted to give you a heads-up," he said, his tone far too cheerful for my liking. "I'm coming to Painesville."
Every muscle in my body tensed, irritation flooding through me in waves.
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh before cutting the call without another word.
Not even a minute of peace. Not even one goddamn day without someone finding a way to push me deeper into the mess that was already unfolding.
I exhaled harshly, running a hand through my hair as I stared at the wall, my fingers flexing against the weight of my glass.
Every instinct in me screamed to throw it—shatter it against the wall, let the shards litter the floor just to hear something break. Just to let out some of the tension coiling tight in my chest.
As if things weren't already so fucking fantastic, now Ashton had to show up and become another part of this shitstorm.
I could already feel the impending headache that worsen with his presence.
My grip tightened around the crystal tumbler, but I held back.
Barely.
Times like these made me feel like I was unraveling. Like I was standing at the edge of something volatile, just waiting for the moment I'd finally tip over.
And the worst part?
Even I couldn't tell what was wrong with me anymore.