Elias's POV
watched Maeve take another long pull from her beer bottle . She wasn't much of a drinker, as I'd known her long enough to know that.
But tonight she was downing alcohol like it was water, her movements becoming increasingly unsteady with each sip.
Part of me wanted to take the bottle away from her, to tell her that drowning her sorrows wasn't going to solve anything. But who was I to talk? I'd been doing the same thing, just with rage instead of alcohol.
"You know," she said suddenly, her words slightly slurred as she turned to look at me, "you're really mean. Like, really, really mean."
She was drunk. Definitely drunk. And suddenly I didn't know what to say to her anymore. All the anger I'd been nursing, all the cruel words I'd been ready to throw at her, they felt wrong now, like kicking someone who was already down.
