Chapter 8

• Darren
• I never feel comfortable in bars, especially when I couldn't drink.
• I sat on a worn stool, the leather cracked and peeling beneath me, my phone a cold weight in my hand. The screen stayed dark, taunting me with its silence. Around me, Cassius was a whirlwind of noise and motion, his laughter sharp and grating as he draped himself over a cluster of giggling girls. His shirt hung loose, unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and his eyes gleamed with the kind of reckless joy that only came from too much whiskey.