Chapter Text
“Why do you always call me when you’re like this?” You hear, which causes you to finally make a proper decision.
Tonight’s decision: Hard liquor.
Disappointment. Why are you so disappointed? Is it because you find yourself fumbling to open that bottle of whiskey that you swore up and down to yourself that you would never drink again? Especially alone.
It is because that you didn’t have the guts to inform your partner face to face you kissed someone else not even a matter of days after she admitted she loved you, so a phone call seemed much better as opposed to her finding out later on national television?
Is it because you already knew how Marisol was? How you could practically feel her chest tighten and her brows scrunch up in anger, even if she was in a different city when you broke the news?
Or perhaps it’s just regret finally making itself at home inside your entire being. Do you regret that you answered Marisol’s FaceTime call and not only heard her, but had to endure her screaming at you for being unfaithful, then watching her break down because deep down inside, both of you are well aware that she’s more mad at herself than at you?
Do you regret not being able to react to your girlfriend because the amount of alcohol you consumed to even be truthful isn’t allowing you to emote? You’re just staring at her, paralyzed. Numb.
Or maybe you just regret everything, but one thing.
“...Lottie. Wow.” Marisol says between something of a scoff and a sniffle. There it is. You can see it on your iPhone screen. That face she makes when she’s disgusted, you just never thought you’d be on the receiving end of it. “Go to Hell, Peyton.” The video call ends. You blink, before taking another swig at the whiskey bottle.
It’s foul, and it goes down hard. Why the fuck is it always like this?
You thought you found the one. Things were going great. You and Marisol, both of you just clicked. She had her peeves, and even chastised you for acting childish inside a grocery store, but you still loved her. Emotionally, throughout every obstacle she hurled at you throughout your whole time in the Villa. Physically, because you had her every chance and every place you got because of what she put you through during that fucking time in the Villa. Marisol was strong. Marisol was comfortable.
So, why did you kiss Lottie the day before the finale?
Lottie got on your fucking nerves at some points. The tattooed fiend treated Girl Code like it was a religion and she was sitting front row every Sunday. She got on your ass the second she felt you were shady, but claimed Gary shortly after Hannah left. You were always the peacemaker yet she was always the fire starter. She knew how to push your buttons, how to make you want to scream, throw things, ..to make you lose control.
And you fucking hated it, because you loved control and she was the only woman in the Villa that could take it away from you and run with it.
And wow, did you really lose control. And she really did run with it.
“Why do you let me?” You respond back, miserably. Yet, you’re not bitter. Just, confused, lost.
No control.
You hear Lottie sigh at the other end of the line.
“I fucking hate you when you’re like this...” She responds. And you know she means it. Because this is her third day of having to deal with drunk you, over the phone, regretting everything. “It feels like you regret everything...” She draws out, you hear her voice get lower, almost vulnerable. “Like you regret, me.” Lottie finishes.
You try to sit up from your couch. The room is spinning. Worse than it did when you kissed her, but not as fast as it did when she kissed you back. You fall back on the couch, attempting to think over your next few words. You rub your forehead with your hand, and Lottie sighs.
“You’re fucked up. And maybe I caused it. But, you need to figure out who you want.” The tattooed women says on the other end of the line. “I care about you, but, I care about myself too.” Typical Lottie.
“Here you go again with your fucking walls-“ You feel yourself getting angry, but Lottie cuts you off.
“Bye Peyton.” She says and hangs up, and perhaps that’s for the best. You lost your girlfriend, and you lost your girl friend. You close your eyes and let out a frustrated huff. You’ll think this through. At least you were honest, now it’s a matter of damage control, and moving on. You know you’ll call one of them back.
“When the party’s over.” You mumble to yourself and take another swig of the bottle. You continue to do this until your vision goes black.