“I just want to be on my own. Leave me alone,” I manage to mumble out.

“I know, mate. But you can be alone once I get you home. Okay?”

What he says makes some sort of sense in my fuddled brain so I try to stand but haphazardly fall into him instead. My legs give way under my weight.

“Whoa, steady, Noah. You’re going to land on your arse if you’re not careful.”

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve the friends I have. I rack my brain thinking of a reason but come up empty-handed. Well, at least I chose them right. I’m not so shit-hot at choosing the right woman, though.

“She doesn’t love me,” I mutter under my breath, as Spud drags me out of the bar, taking my weight on his shoulders.

“Who? Lizzie?”

Who fucking else? I nod my drunken head wearily. “She doesn’t love me. She loves him.” The finality of the statement I just made makes me want to cry. And if I had enough strength, I’d knock myself out cold.

“Fuck, man, you’re making no sense. I knew I’d find you in a state. I shouldn’t have fucking left you this long,” he says, more to himself than me.

We reach his van and Spud props me up against the side while he finds his keys and unlocks the doors. He turns back just as I begin to slide down the side. Grabbing hold of my T-shirt, he then lifts me, and hauls me into the passenger side.

“Bloody hell, have you been bathing in the stuff? You smell like shit.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer and slams the door. The sound of it makes my head pound. My eyelids begin to droop. I’m so fucking tired. I just want to go to sleep. As my eyes close, I hear him make a phone call.

“Hi, it’s me. Yeah, I’ve got him. He’s in a right state… No, that’s really not a good idea, mate. He’s shit-faced. I’m taking him home. What? I don’t think so. Hold on a minute. I’ll ask but I don’t know if I’ll get a coherent answer.” Spud directs his conversation at me.

“Noah, you bagged anyone tonight?”

What the hell is he asking me for? Have I? I think I did, but it could have been my imagination. A vision flashes in my mind, caramel hair and storm grey eyes.

“Lizzie,” I choke out.

“It’s okay, mate.” Spud pats me on the head.

Am I a fucking dog, tonight? He returns to his phone conversation.

“No, mate. He mentioned Lizzie, and that’s it… Cool. See you later.” He hangs up.

I think I must have passed out, as I wake up to Spud trying to lug me out of his van. I pull back and refuse to move, using all my weight to keep me seated.

“Where are we?” I slur.

“I brought you back to my house. At least that way we can make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit.” His sarcastic tone doesn’t get lost in translation. He must think I’m pathetic.

“I’m not going to puke. Take me home,” I demand, though the words don’t even make sense to my own ears.

He sighs and points a finger at me. “Too late, man. Look at your T-shirt.”

Sure enough, there’re the usual diced carrots I never eat in a wonderful trail down my front. I groan at the sight. I must have puked while I was passed out. Nice.

“Sorry, man,” I mutter. Shame washes over me.

“No worries, it’s all over you, not my van. But you do owe me a lifetime supply of air freshener though. Oh, and Catlin’s going to kill you.”

I groan again but drag my arse out of his van. The cool air hits me hard, waking me up, which is not a good thing. Now I know how drunk I actually am. When you are completely wasted your mind shuts down and you have no idea how bad things actually are. When you sober slightly, things become a million times worse.

I can smell vomit now, unsurprisingly, which is making my stomach roil again. My legs can barely take my weight and my eyes won’t stop rolling in their sockets. I’m a walking disaster zone.

“I need a shower,” I utter quietly, murmuring more to myself than Spud as we walk up to his home.

“No shit.” My sister’s voice pierces through my splitting head. “And you’re damn well having one before you get anywhere near my spare bed.”

Caitlin’s lying in wait at the front door. I’m lucky she’s not armed with a frying pan. Pregnancy hormones are making her more unforgiving than usual. She looks like a Weeble so I find it hard to take her seriously, even when I know I should. I start sniggering, which earns me the look of death. In turn, it only makes me laugh harder.

“Spud, please get shithead into the shower. Now,” she orders.

Her tone is clipped, and not one to be argued with, so I hang my head and weave after Spud into their home and up to the bathroom. I stumble into the shower fully dressed and collapse to the floor. Spud kindly removes my boots before unkindly turning the shower on me.

“Cheers, mate, I think.” I look up at him. His sad eyes stare back at me.

“When are you going to stop doing this shit to yourself? Caitlin’s worried out of her mind about you. In all honesty, both me and Bear are worried, too. Look, I know this is how you deal, but you’re going to kill yourself if you carry on like this.” I just stare helplessly at him and he shakes his head. What the fuck does he want me to say? I know I’m a fucking mess.

“Here’s a towel. You’ve got some extra clothes in the dresser in the spare room.” He goes to walk out the bathroom but turns back. “Just try not to injure yourself, okay?”

I nod at him as he closes the door and leaves me on my own. When did I turn into such a waste of space? Even with my drink-addled brain I know I’m on a destructive path again. If I have any chance at winning over Lizzie, no matter how minuscule, then I need to clean up my act big fucking time. The last thing she would want or need is another self-destructive wanker in her life.

Every woman wants a man who adores her, a knight in shining armour to protect and ultimately support her, but tonight I’ve been nothing but a giant fuck-up.

Do I still want her?

My stupid pride wouldn’t let me listen to her. I didn’t want to have what’s left of my heart crushed again. But what if I’d listened, what then? My life is full of what-ifs when it comes to that woman. What if I’d stood my ground and not left the first time? What if I’d not walked out the door? What if I’d begged her to marry me? What fucking if?

The realisation I just thought about marrying her hits me like a sledgehammer. Is that what I really want? I ponder on the thought for all of a second. Fuck yes, that’s what I want. I want my ring on her finger. I want her to have my name. I want everyone to know she’s mine. I want her to have my children and I want her to know she’s the reason I breathe.

I better get my shit together and start fighting for what I want instead of running away. I’ve been so afraid of being torn to shreds, I’ve never fought. I’ve given up before I’ve begun. She’s got to be mine. I need her to be mine.

I peel off my drenched clothes, have a half-arsed wash, and stagger out of the shower with a new outlook on my life. Basically, stop being a fucking whingeing fucked-up bastard. Yeah, that about sums it up. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I stumble out onto the landing and into the spare room.

Caitlin’s due soon and the room’s stacked with new baby stuff, making me feel like a prize tosser for putting her through one of my meltdowns. I flop down onto the bed and lie spread out like a starfish, sinking into the marshmallow duvet that Cait has put on it. She really loves soft shit. And tonight, I’m grateful.

And as if on cue the world begins to rotate.

“Wakey-wakey, sunshine.” Caitlin’s voice invades my dreamless sleep, jolting me into reality. With a start, I sit up abruptly, silently thankful for spewing my guts up last night, otherwise I’d be on the run to the bathroom.

“Ever heard of privacy?” I grumble at her beaming face.