I spend the best part of an hour arranging and rearranging the flowers in an old vase (part of my inheritance... I'm definitely not the kinda guy that would keep a vase hanging around for any other reason), staring miserably at them trying to get the hurt look on Cay's face out of my head.
Fuck, it wasn't even hurt, it was angry. Angry that my ex had decided to turn up when I was finally letting go of how bad he hurt me, angry that my ex had called him a rebound when he so clearly wasn't.
I managed to get Alex to leave soon after Cay stormed out, though he promised he would be back to cheer me up later. I don't plan on being here when he comes back, to be honest. And I might not know Cay as well as I'd like to, but I'm almost certain he'd end up in a bar somewhere. Which one, I don't know, but I'm familiar with pretty much every bar in this town. Too familiar, probably. But at least it shouldn't be too hard to find him.
Grabbing my wallet, I haul myself up off the sofa, change my top to one that I haven't used to wipe my eyes on and drag myself outside into the town, looking for Cay. I want this to work out. I want him to forgive me for whatever it is he feels I've done to him. This is the first go at a relationship I've had in two years, I can't afford to fuck up so early on.
I don't really think as I search through the bars for him. I just follow my feet and hope they'll take me to him.
Eventually, about an hour or so after I left my apartment, I see him, trying to drink himself stupid, throwing back shot after shot. Even as I walk towards him he downs two shots one after the other, barely pausing to breathe.
"Cayden," I murmur, sitting beside him, leaving a polite enough distance, despite the urge to hug him right there and not let go.
"Maxxie," he replies curtly, but not before he has another shot. Even in this state, I'm amazed he's not paralytic by now.
"I'm really sorry about what Alex said. He only called you a rebound ‘cause he's jealous, but you're not, I promise you," I blurt it out without thinking, regardless of whether he's sober enough to comprehend what I just said or not.
"Heh, sure doesn't look like it from where I'm standing," he sneers and his tone stings. I try not to let it show. Breaking down into tears in front of an ex is bad enough, but in a bar full of strangers? No thanks. If it was just Cayden I might cope, but...
"Then how does it look from where you're standing?" I whisper, not sure if I want to hear the answer.
"It looks like you're still hooked on him and I'm just here to fill in the gaps."
I nod. I guess I can understand that. "You're not here to fill the gaps at all, Cay," I tell him, trying to get my voice above a whisper, "yes, I said ‘getting' over him. Yes, two years is a stupidly long time, but the scars he left run pretty deep. I'd explain it, but no one wants to hear about their boyfriend's ex," I sigh and order a drink of my own. He doesn't say a thing to me, instead waving at the barmaid to keep his drinks coming. "I dunno what you want me to say, Cayden," I say, exasperated as I watch him drain his glass too quickly.
"I don't want you to say anything," he snaps and I look away, stung by his tone.
"Then what do you want?" I mutter, glaring down at my own untouched drink, wondering what he could possibly want from me.
He heaves a sigh, "I don't know what I want. My head hurts and it sure as hell isn't the booze. I just... I don't even know what to believe anymore."
"Then believe me when I say you're not a rebound," I almost plead. I'm sure it's a pathetic sight, and I'm probably not really winning him over by sitting here begging him to believe me over my somewhat spiteful ex, but I don't think I even care anymore. Hell, I might even start crying in public. "I've had my rebound, I'm moving on, I'm ready to put effort into a real relationship now, and I want it to be with you," I bite on my lower lip to stop more of the begging spiel from spilling out of my mouth and making me sound even more desperate, instead glancing up at him to see how he's reacting.