Chapter 202: Can’t a guy get a mental health day in peace?
Andrew jerked awake, his vision blurry as he tried to understand why he was awake. His whole body pulsed, once, twice, before the pain centered on his head and it felt like it was splitting. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time, months, actually. Since he had last drank to excess at Maxwell’s house.
A deep, painful ache in his chest. He still felt like he was splitting in half.
He looked around the room in a daze, taking in the trays of food sitting on the counter and table of the room, the discarded clothes on the floor, and the several bottles of alcohol strewn around. If anyone else had seen this, they would think that he’d had a wild night with someone else. Not that he was a heartbroken man, trying to get through whatever the hell was going on between him and Maxwell.
Or...Or should he be calling him Mr. Beckett?
Wincing, grabbing at his chest, Andrew reached for his glasses, putting them on as he tried to understand why he was awake. The day had barely started, it was only around 10 am. Andrew couldn’t remember what time he’d gone to sleep, but it had been in the early hours of the night. He knew he was still drunk, but the hangover was certainly making things worse.
Sighing, Andrew glanced around for his phone, but found a bottle of whiskey first. Without hesitation, Andrew reached for the bottle, the cap already off, and took a swig as he felt something begin to vibrate. He patted around on the bed, the whiskey bottle still at his lips, until he found his phone under a pillow.
Lowering the bottle, he looked at the caller i.d. and found that it was Richard of all people. He answered the phone, and held it up to his ear.
"H-Hello?"
"Jesus christ you sound like death. Where the hell are you?" Richard’s voice had an edge to it, but Andrew glanced at the bottle in his hand. It was too tempting.
"I told you I was taking a mental health day." Andrew protested, raising the bottle to his lips and taking another sip. It burned, but it was something Andrew looked forward to.
"Yeah, but you never fucking told me that you weren’t going home, Andrew!" Richard’s words were tense, and quiet. "So where the hell are you? Mr. Beckett is here demanding to know where you are!" Andrew froze. He forgot to breathe. "Andrew? Are you still there?" Richard asked and Andrew felt his lungs begin to protest.