It had been a week since I saw Joe, and I was going into withdrawal.

I had never known it was possible to go into withdrawal because you couldn’t see the stubborn, blind, pigheaded asshole who lived across the hall from you. But apparently it was. And it was depressing as hell. I didn’t want to miss him as much as I did, but he had crept into my heart like Bilbo into the Lonely Mountain, and I couldn’t get him out.

I stared at the glass in front of me, holding it up to the light. Fireball was the prettiest whiskey, in my opinion, shining a warm red-orange without being diluted by that nasty Coca-Cola Joe always put in it on the rare occasions he had dared to drink with me. I had maybe half a glass left; I threw it back before I could think about it, the sharp taste of cinnamon coating my tongue.

I slammed the glass down on the table, hard enough to rattle everything else there. Since it was fall break and I had no school while I waited for Joe to come back, it was a lot; four empty Fireball bottles, a bottle of RumChata Helena gave to me, and somewhere around forty of those bottled frappuccinos you could buy at the store. Suffice it to say I had an almost permanent hangover I was staving off by continuing to drink and sleep very little.

But it was worth it, because the burn of the alcohol on my lips helped me forget the taste of Joe’s mouth for just a little bit longer.

I made a desperate sound and reached for the bottle. When I held it to my mouth, tipping it upside down, I was disappointed to find it completely empty. There weren’t any more bottles on the table, either. Grumbling, I got to my feet and staggered to the kitchen, pressing a hand to my forehead and hoping it would help keep the floor steady.

I hadn’t drank that much since Clint dumped my ass for cheating on him. It wasn’t my fault that girl had the greatest set of-

I shook my head, hard, to rid myself of the rest of those thoughts. Because if I got myself worked up… my thoughts would circle right back around to Joe. I would start imagining what could have happened if he hadn’t finally decided to touch me- only to punch me in the face for daring to break that damned barrier he kept up around himself.

Stubborn. Oblivious. Innocent.

Damn me but he was everything that drove me wild all wrapped up in a sexy package and labelled with the name of my favorite author. He was driving me mad.

My fist punched a hole through the wall. I looked at it with mild surprise; I hadn’t thought I was punching that hard, but the alcohol was making me lose more than my balance.

“Fuck it all,” I muttered to myself. I already knew I wasn’t going to find anything in my kitchen; I vaguely remembered bringing it all out to the living room when I started my alcohol and Netflix binge. It was easy to get through eight seasons of Supernatural when you didn’t sleep.

I switched my direction so fast I almost fell over. Note to self: turning quickly when drunk is a majorly fucking bad idea. I was lucky I didn’t spew the coffee and alcohol all over the carpet. That would have been a waste. And I would have had to step over it to get to the door, so I could go get more alcohol- a waste of time as well as alcohol. Just all around bad.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the way my thoughts kept straying. There was a reason I didn’t drink very often. Screw being underage- I acted like an ass when I was drunk. I proved it more by taking three minutes of constant swearing and fumbling to figure out how to undo the two locks on my door. At last it swung open, and I stumbled out into the hall.

I walked out just in time to catch someone knocking at Joe’s door.

“Don’t bother. It’s fucking useless. I’ve battered my hands bloody trying to get him to answer. I don’t think he’s even fucking there anymore,” I sniffed, shutting my door behind me. I didn’t bother to figure out how to lock it; I wasn’t going far, just down to the building manager’s rooms to convince him to give me the stash of alcohol I kept in the basement.

Clint dropped his hand slowly. When he turned around, he surprised me by looking a little sad. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I was worried about him. But if he’s not there, there’s not really anything I can do, is there?”

My heart throbbed in my chest. “I get what you mean,” I said with a soft laugh, rubbing at the back of my neck. Joe wasn’t just leaving me hanging. He was screwing with the rest of the people in the apartment building who had started to care for him. Damn it, I was going to pound some sense into Joe if he ever came back.

“I bet you’re worse off than the rest of us. I mean, you two…” Clint left it hanging, and quickly looked away from me.

My laugh that time was harsh and bitter. “No, we weren’t. I’m the same as the rest of you; he tolerated me so he wouldn't have to move out.”

“Kisten…” Clint’s eyes widened at the caustic sound of my voice. He stepped forward, his eyes quickly narrowing when I attempted to take a step back and only ended up wobbling.

“You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you?” he accused, pressing forward until my back was against the wall and I had nowhere else to go.

I turned my head away from him, the best I could do. “No, not at all.”

“Don’t lie to me, Kisten Jones! I can smell the Fireball on your breath! Shit, at least if you have to drink, drink something that’s not girly as hell,” he grumbled, poking a finger into my chest.

I caught his hand, scowling down at him. “You aren’t in any position to tell me what to do, Clint.”

“That’s no fault of mine,” Clint said sullenly, trying to yank his hand away.

I held on tighter, and my gaze softened slightly. “Yeah, it was all my fault. But we’ve been through this before. Don’t mother me if you don’t plan on forgiving me. I warned you when I started that I didn’t consider sleeping with a woman while I was dating you cheating.”

“I know that!” Clint snapped. He sighed softly, and it was his turn to drop his gaze. “I get it. And I forgave you almost the second I gave you up. That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever fucking done.” His laugh brought a small smile to my face.

I couldn’t help myself. Reaching out, I brushed his hair back from his face so I could see his eyes; I’d always thought they were such pretty hazel eyes, too pretty to be hiding behind that ragged hair. It reminded me of Joe, and my heart twisted painfully.

“Yeah, it was a stupid ass move to make,” I said, teasing, quickly dropping my hand when he threatened to lean his head into my touch. He couldn’t do that when I was oh so close to losing my control, so close that I could remember what it was like to hold Clint in my arms and kiss him until he fell apart.

Clint looked hurt for a moment; then his gaze went thoughtful, almost calculating. “So, if you and Joe aren’t…”

“Don’t go there, Clint,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t know what’s going on with Joe. The dumbass isn’t willing to admit he enjoys it when people touch him. He acts like a skittish pound kitten. But, even when he pulls away from me… I just want to fight until I break him down and he lets me in.”

Clint nodded slowly. “I get that. You’re probably falling in love with him- though god knows love is a foreign word to you.”

I blinked at his laughter. “Hey, I-”

“Don’t go there, Kisten.” He was only repeating my words, but I knew exactly what he meant. The thing that had hurt him the worst was that I said I loved him before I slept with the Starbucks barista. “I know you never did, so I don’t want you to pretend. That would be stupid as fuck. Alright?”

“Alright,” I said softly, letting the offense slip away. I’d done worse to him.

Despite everything I’d done, and all the ways I had hurt him, there was a fondness in Clint’s eyes as he looked up at me. “I can tell you’re hurting, Kisten. Whether you love Joe yet, or not, you’re spiralling down again. I’ve seen it before. You were the same way when I met you. If somebody doesn’t snap you out of it, you’re going to end up in the hospital again.

“Now, it doesn’t look like Joe’s going to be reaching a hand down to pull you out of your hell anytime soon. But you need that, Kisten. So… do me a favor, and don’t stop me. Alright?”

I looked down at him, searching his eyes. Damn it. Seriously, damn it all to hell and back. But he was right. “Alright,”I answered softly.

I kept true to my word. When Clint put his hands on my chest, leaning forward to keep his balance when he got up on his toes to get rid of the height distance between us, I didn’t push him away. When he slipped one hand up to tangle in my hair, I closed my eyes. My lips parted slightly when he kissed me; my arms went around his waist, drawing him close.

It was so easy to fall into old patterns. I had never locked my door, and I barely fumbled when I opened the damn thing. Clint laughed at the disorder in my living room but it didn’t keep his attention for long.

I hesitated at the door to my bedroom, on the edge. My gaze flicked to my couch, the next episode of Supernatural waiting to be watched. Then I looked back to Clint. “Alright,” I said again, my voice barely audible, before I let him pull me into my bedroom and shut the door behind us.