CHAPTER 3: FUCKING MEDDLER

DAMIAN Coffee. I knew this should be my priority at nearly ten in the morning. The grumbling in my stomach was making that clear. Considering guilt was gnawing at me as I stripped down the hospital corridor for the hundredth time, but despite that, I felt like I could claw someone's face off if I didn't get my daily dose of caffeine running down my system. Even though I was hungry, I prioritized finding a way to see Maria. I approached the front desk again. "Sir, we don't have any—" "Why don't you call her room or something goddammit," I growled, my voice rising. She gave me a measured look but dialed the number anyway. "Mrs. Callaway is now awake but won't see you, sir. I suggest you go home and get some rest." "The hell you do! What kind of establishment stops a husband from seeing his wife?!" I boomed. This was getting in my last fraying nerves. "I'm afraid you lost those rights when you laid a finger on her, Mr. Calleway. As long as she's in our care, we'll do as she wishes." "You are out of your mind, Charlotte." I glanced at her name tag. "You could get in a lot of trouble for saying what you know nothing about!" I thundered Some visiting patients and nurses were Turning heads to the scene before them, some even pulling out their phones. "There's a reason we have security. Don't make us use them on you." She glared back; her stance proud as hell. Fucking meddler. I growled under my breath. It was useless; I wasn't allowed in last night when she was rushed in, and she didn't want to see me today either. Who was I kidding? I was losing this battle fast before it began. I spun on my heel, fists clenched, and stormed out of the hospital. Every face that crossed my path was met with a scowl; every noise felt like an assault. Marie had mocked me twice, yet my heart refused to accept it. I got into my car. It was a good thing I ditched my driver. I was in no mood to talk to anyone today. My phone was nervous again as if on cue, but I ignored it. It wasn't noon yet, but the sun had already let up. I drove aimlessly through the city streets. The glare through the windshield was sharp, almost blinding, but it matched the chaos inside my head. The pain of being shut out from Marie, coupled with the frustration of feeling utterly powerless, made every traffic light turn a test of my patience. I slammed the steering wheel, the dull thud echoing my internal rage. I pulled into a dive bar on the outskirts of town, the neon sign flickering in a tired rhythm. It was precisely the sort of place where people went to drown their sorrows and forget their troubles. I needed that desperately. I stumbled out of the car and pushed through the heavy door, the smell of stale beer and fried food hitting me with a familiar comfort. The bartender barely looked up as I slid onto a bar stool. "What'll it be?" he asked, his voice gravelly. "Whiskey. Neat," I grumbled. He poured the drink with practiced ease, sliding it across the bar. The first sip burned my throat, but the heat was welcome; at least, it differed from the cold numbness that had settled over me. I drank slowly, savoring the slow crawl of warmth through my body. The bar was a blur of hazy conversations and the clinking of glasses. I tried to lose myself in the ambiance, but the images of Marie's face and hardened resolve kept intruding on my thoughts. By evening, the bar had become a second home, the whiskey bottle now half-empty beside me. I paid the tab and stumbled back to my car; the liquid had almost made me forget who I was. I was away from reflecting on what led to my fallout with Maria. I was a fucking bitch, and maybe I don't deserve her; the love I feel for her can't even measure up. The drive home was a fog of red and orange streetlights blending into a kaleidoscope of anger and despair. When I finally staggered into the house, it was dark, the shadows in the living room long and ominous. The sound of muffled thuds and muted voices reached my ears, and my stomach tightened with an anxious knot. As I rounded the corner, I saw Charles, mid-pack, throwing Marie's belongings into a pile with a mastered carefulness. "What the hell are you doing?" I bellowed, my voice rough from the whiskey and raw from my emotion. Charles's head snapped up, a smirk spreading across his face as he looked at me. "Marie gave me the keys. She said she didn't want you anywhere near her." "Marie wouldn't do that!" I roared, my vision blurring with rage and alcohol. The lie was the only thing I could hold on to. "She wouldn't just leave everything behind." "Believe what you want," Charles said, his voice laced with venom. "But she made it pretty clear she's done with you." His deadpan words struck like a physical blow. My vision narrowed, red-hot anger consuming me. Without a second thought, I swung at Charles, my fist connecting with his face with a satisfying crunch. He stumbled back, shock and pain flickering across his features. "Get out!" I shouted, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him towards the door. "Get out of my house!" I allowed one stony glare from him as he righted his clothes. As soon as the door slammed behind him, I collapsed onto the couch. The house was eerily silent now. I sat there in the dim light, everything pressing down on me. My hands trembled as I buried my face in them, and then, the tears came unbidden. Alas, I was alone again. Just as much has been predicted about me. Maria was my temporary happiness, but she was gone too. "This isn't new to you." A voice in my head scowled. But it does not make it hurt less.