What did Cayden think he was doing?! I thought the whole point of being someone's ex was that you didn't do that kind of stuff anymore.
I practically run out to the car, my hands lighting a cigarette of their own accord. When I've calmed down a bit, I head off to pick up mine and Hadley's stuff from the motel and hand back the key. Y'know how I've kind of developed mild agoraphobia in the last few days, all thanks to John-O? And how I don't like being alone? Suddenly being back at that motel was like the two things I wanted least to come together, coming together.
Brilliant. I'm on my own, outside with a bunch of people wandering around. Oh, and lots of rooms nearby with beds in and locks on the door. Yeah. Not too keen on all that right now, either.
So yeah, I kinda rush the packing, glad I lived right out of my suitcase. Unlike Hadley, who had actually bothered to use the dresser in the room and put stuff away. I just grab everything and shove it in his backpack as quickly as is humanly possible.
Of course, my stressing is totally pointless. Nothing happens - I get our stuff, I give the key back and drive off. Sure, I felt like everyone wandering around were watching me, and I fully expected a repeat experience of the last time I was in the motel room on my own. But I'm fine.
I let myself into my apartment, dragging my suitcase and Hadley's bag behind me.
"Don't mind me," I say to the room, "I'll just drag all this crap up here by myself."
"M'kay," I hear Caleb mumble from the kitchen. I grumble under my breath and haul it into the bedroom. And see Hadley. Passed out. With a bottle of vodka in his hand.
"Why the fuck has Hadley drunk himself to sleep?" I snap. Don't blame me. I'm still stressed, and coming home to your boyfriend like that doesn't help your mood very often.
"Because he wanted to...?" I grit my teeth and snatch the bottle from Hadley, screwing the cap back on. I stalk into the kitchen and slam it down on the counter, ignoring Caleb arching his eyebrow at me. I take a breath and force myself not to smash it on something before sliding it away to the corner, and pushing myself up on the counter. I light a cigarette and say nothing to Caleb as he eats his sandwich in silence.
"So... Can I have that?" he asks after I've zoned out.
"That," he says, pointing at the vodka.
"Man, why not?"
"Because the sink is thirsty," I mutter, shuffling up to the sink with it. I'm about to pour it down the sink when it's snatched out of my hand.
"Share your things," he says when I glower at him.
"I was about to share it... with the sink."
"That's mean when there's a hot, thirsty guy in your kitchen."
"Oh? Who's that then?" he scowls at me and I shrug. "If you throw up, you clean it up. There's a reason I don't keep spirits at home."
"Baby, I don't throw up."
"If you break anything, you replace it, I'm sure you get the gist."
"I'm eighteen, not eight." I slip off the counter and flick my cigarette out of the window, resisting the urge to say ‘you have the mental age of an eight year old, though'. I wander into the bedroom and lie down on the bed, ignoring as Caleb sort of follows me. I don't think that guy has any concept of other people being in a bad mood. At all. I play with Hadley's hair absently, attempting to continue ignoring him as he watches me.
"Can I help you?" I ask eventually.
"Not really." Right...
"So... why're you staring at me?"
"I got nothing else to do," he shrugs.
"I thought that was why you wanted the vodka?"
"Vodka's no fun on your own." I sigh and roll my eyes. Fuck it. It might de-stress me a bit. I kiss Hadley's forehead and get up again, grabbing the vodka from Caleb in the doorway. I unscrew the cap and throw it in the vague direction of the bin. I don't think we'll be needing it again.