I drained the rest of the bottle like it was the last thing keeping me tethered to the world. The burn finally hit, sharp and unwelcome, but it didn’t wash away the ache. If anything, it sharpened it, made it more real, more raw. The kind of hurt that wasn’t fixable with alcohol, or time, or even a good night’s sleep.

Drew just sat across from me, legs splayed, one arm draped lazily over the back of the sofa, watching me like a hawk waiting for its prey to collapse. I couldn’t tell if ...