I had decided on silence.
Silence and drunkenness.
Hannah tidied around the kitchen area, wiping down the counter and piling empty bottles into a bag. She lifted a half-empty bottle of Malbec. With a glance in my direction, she began to pour the wine down the drain.
"Are you ready to stop drinking?" she said.
I shrugged and took a swig from my bottle.
I couldn't take my eyes off Hannah.
Only as the alcohol numbed me and firelight began to fill the room did I notice how greatly changed she was. Her hair was straight and short, falling at a dramatic angle around her face. Her cheeks were hollow, her high cheekbones standing out. Her whole body was slimmer.
I rose and took a few steps toward the kitchen.
I needed a better look at her.
Hannah paused, watching me.
What was that expression on her face? Was she afraid of me?
What an awful thought.
I stopped where I was, standing at the edge of the kitchen area, and Hannah resumed emptying bottles into the sink.
My gaze trailed up her ankles and calves. Her leggings left nothing to the imagination. She wore a loose long top that just covered her bottom.
The old possessiveness stirred in me, but I didn't move. Three months ago, I would have lifted her shirt and squeezed her ass. It was mine then—mine to look at and touch.
Hannah edged past me. She ducked her head and drew in her shoulders, trying to make herself small.
Yes, she was afraid of me. Of course. Why wouldn't she be? I was a drunken stranger who pulled a gun on her moments ago. And now I was hovering around staring at her body.
I turned to watch her collect bottles from the coffee table and floor. She paused by the fireplace and pulled out her phone.
I advanced.
"Who are you texting?" I growled.
Her eyes went round. They looked so much larger in her hungry face. She was still beautiful, though. The weight she had lost somehow made it easier to read her expression. It was as though, with nothing spare on the stage, she became pure emotion.
"Nate," she said. "Your brother."
I barked out a laugh.
Nate, of course. Nate with his grand ideas.
I began to pace, kicking bottles and clothes out of my way.
"Nate, fucking Nate. He sent you here?"
"He asked me to come." Hannah slid her phone away.
"Well isn't that fucking sweet. And here you are. Good of him to warn me. You know, a heads up might've been nice."
"He thought you would be angry. He thought you might leave. I think he was right."
I glowered at Hannah.
She ignored me and continued emptying bottles. I tightened my grip on the neck of what would soon be my last bottle of bourbon.
"I hope you're happy; you've poured about a thousand dollars in wine down the drain."
"I'll pay you back. You have to stop drinking, Matt. Everyone's worried about you."
"Everyone, huh?"
"Pam, your brothers, your uncle."
"What about you?" I tipped the bottle to my lips. I was drinking too much, too fast. I leaned against the back of the couch as the room swayed.
Hannah's eyes were wet again. Fuck, I wished she would quit crying.
"No one is as worried as I am," she said.
She plunked the bag of bottles down in the kitchen and disappeared into my bedroom. I closed my eyes. I heard her moving through the cabin, shutting windows.
She returned with a few more bottles, which she emptied and tossed. She cleared the booze from my fridge and freezer and swept broken glass from the floor into a dustpan.
Her eyes landed on the kitchen table. It was littered with pill bottles and papers.
"Those are mine," I said.
"I won't get rid of anything else." Hannah moved toward the table. I thought I might fall if I let go of the couch, and besides, the game was up.
The game had been up for a while now.
Hannah examined my prescriptions. Fresh tears rolled down her face as she lined up the bottles.