She’s five? six? drinks in when she gives into her tears and the alcohol and presses call.
[CALLING: Max Clarke]
It rings. It rings and rings and she’s about to hang up, to give up, because why would Max answer? when she hears Max’s answer machine message.
She speaks without thinking, her sentences broken up by her tears.
“Max. Max, I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. I don’t know what to do. I know you probably don’t care because we—we broke up but I need help. I need you.”
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She wasn’t even sure how it’d happened, she and Max had broken up and she’d ended up in Andy Johnson’s bed.
She hadn’t meant to end up here, in the arms of her ex, in his bed, back in the old habit of faking oh so well, because he truly was incredibly underwhelming, absolutely the worst lay of Reyna’s life. An irony that does not escape her. She’d slept with him to take her mind off her breakup, and he wasn’t even good.
They hardly talk, not even when Reyna almost says Max’s name as she “finishes” which only throws her back into her emotions, her sadness, which was the one thing she wanted to avoid, the whole reason she was with Andy in the first place.
They spend the entire time either between the sheets or with their lips locked, and Reyna can’t deny, her ex may have been terrible in bed, but he was an excellent kisser.
And then he has to go and ruin it.
“Reyne, does this mean...” Andy trails off, not finishing his sentence, and Reyna shakes her head.
“No. This was just a fuck, Andy. We broke up for a reason.” She tells him, which is when the reality of what happened finally sinks in, and she feigns nonchalance to avoid crying on the spot.
“Thanks for the lay, good to know you still suck in bed. Later, Johnson.” She adds, making a hasty exit, tears stinging at the back of her eyes.
She doesn’t make it halfway down the street before they start to fall.
To make it worse, there was only one person who could talk her down from the breakdown fast approaching, and it just happened to be the one person she couldn’t call. The reason she’d gone to Andy in the first place.
She heads into the first bar she sees and orders three shots of vodka, knocking them back in quick succession, wanting to forget as soon as possible.
She’s five? six? drinks in when she gives into her tears and the alcohol and presses call.
