Attempt after failed attempt later, and Hunter had lost track of the number of times that heâd tried to get himself clean and sober. His last effort at getting his act together had only lasted a pitiful three days, the tatted-up twenty-five-year-old caving and reaching for his go-to crutch in the form of a bottle of Jack Danielâs after an episode that left him feeling deaf and numb to the world. Sometimes the voices got so loud that all he could do to drown them out was to drink himself into a stupor and black out. It was a slippery slope though, as it was far too easy for him to keep digging himself into the same grave.
 For the longest time, heâd had Shiloh there to dig him out, but heâd lost her over a year ago when sheâd finally made the decision to split from him. Since then, heâd only spiraled deeper into the chaos of his mind, spending more days wasted than sober and racking up mistakes like he was trying to collect them for a shelf. Heâd never known someone so patient or as kind as her, but alas, she had her own demons to deal with, and it wasnât her fault that sheâd broken beneath the extra weight that heâd put on her shoulders. Sheâd always told him that it wasnât his fault, but deep down, he knew that it was. Still, regardless of the reason for their break-up, the thought of him no longer being there to comfort her made his heart and soul ache. The ghosts that stared at her from the corners of her room at night and whispered horrible things in her ears, or followed her down the hallways to grab at her sleeves⌠they would all still be there while he wouldnât be. She would have to suffer that torment alone now, without his chest to hide against. It was something that he was sure would bother him for a long time, and he could only hope that she could find anotherâs arms to seek solace in. She deserved that, at the very least, and he wasnât selfish enough to want to wish that away from her.
Stumbling down the boulevard with the empty bottle of booze still in his tattooed hands, Hunterâs attention was drawn to the shop across the street. It made him laugh out loud. He knew that ghosts existed because Shiloh had proven it to him far too many times for him to deny it any more, but so far, he had yet to find a shop like this that held any sort of legitimacy inside of its walls. They were all scams and fakes, and this one was probably no different. Still, with nothing better to do, heâd decided to waste some time, tossing the empty bottle haphazardly aside and entering the shop. âHello? Anyone here?â He cleared his throat, his thick British accent apparent even when heâd only spoken a few words. âOi! You guys still open?â He was probably speaking obnoxiously loudly, but the alcohol in his system wasnât allowing him to remember how to use his manners.
@champagneandpoolsâ
