One hour. One hour ago Sean disappeared out the door after telling TJ everything they’d had was a lie and making it abundantly clear that TJ was nothing but a waste of space.
A pathetic American punchline.
The empty bottle of Jack Daniels stared back at him from the counter top. It’s slow burn had long since stopped being enough. For the first time in months, TJ needed something stronger.
All those months of being high on love and all that other bullshit happy people spouted, and he was more than ready to forget it all in exchange for a line or two of coke.
Shoving himself off the couch, he only stumbled slightly in the effort to grab his jacket.
Deciding that meant he was sober enough, or perhaps too sober, TJ headed for the door and the nearest club where one of his acquaintances might help him solve his current situation.
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