I don’t know why my phone will not let me request feedback. Ever. On any of the writings I submit. It says I’m not looking for feedback, but I am. Here’s a list of the things I would like feedback on, if y’all would be so kind!!!

• General feedback

• Character development

• Setting

• Voice

• Pacing,

• Dialogue,

• Any other constructive criticism you have to offer!!

Thanks in advance!

——————

The night reeks of smoke and cheap booze—that sticky scent that clings to your hair and skin long after you’ve left. Voices carry across the yard, loud and slurred, some shouting over the crackling bonfire. As if the flames aren’t loud enough on their own. People sway and stumble in loose circles, red plastic cups sloshing in their hands. Off to the side, someone’s playing an acoustic guitar—out of tune and clashing with whatever throwback playlist the host threw on the Bluetooth speaker. Sounds like missy Elliott. I’ve never been too ladylike, but even I cringe at her lyrics.

My head is fucking pounding. I should be enjoying myself right now. I should be laughing and dancing, letting the warmth of the fire and the buzz of cheap liquor drown out my misery like the rest of these idiots. Instead, I’m pacing the edge of the yard, dodging half-empty beer cans and forgotten lawn chairs, scanning the crowd for Robert. It’s just like him to drag me to one of these stupid parties just to ditch me.

I spot him slumped in one of those flimsy folding chairs by the fire—head lolling to one side, mouth hanging open, dried beer crusted to his chin. His drink—or what’s left of it—dangles from his fingers, barely held in place. He looks like some sort of drunken corpse. I mean, seriously? He’s nearly 30 years old. When the fuck is he going to start acting like it?

I take a deep breath – a feeble attempt to contain my annoyance — before striding over to him. Just seeing him like this makes me want to break shit. I jab his shoulder. Hard.

“Robert,” I snap. Nothing.

I try again, this time giving him a sharp shake. His head flops forward like a deflated balloon.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath. Anger bubbles up in my throat like bile, threatening to spew at any moment.

The sliding door opens and shuts behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see Seth, a beer in one hand and a bag of cookies in the other.

“Yo, Tiff. You seen Rob—” He stops short—mouth open, still full of chewed-up cookies—when he sees Robert laid out in the lawn chair. His face twists into something between frustration and disappointment, and I wonder if he’s as disgusted as I am.

“Help me get him inside?” I say, throwing another glance in Seth’s direction as I yank on Robert’s arm. “He won’t fucking budge, dude.”

Seth sighs—one of those long, drawn-out sighs that practically screams I hate this shit, but he doesn’t argue. He sets his beer and cookies on the ground, and we both grab one of Robert’s arms and hoist him upright. He’s dead weight, heavy as fuck, and after a few steps, my arms already feel like they’re gonna give out.

“C’mon, man,” Seth grunts at Robert. “Help us out here!”

Robert’s head bobs forward. “Whooo! I’m a fuckin’ rockstar!” he slurs before proceeding to burp directly in my face.

“What the fuck?!” I shout, struggling to keep my grip on his arm. But my complaints fall on deaf ears. He’s already passed back out.

Seth’s eyes flick up, and—there it is—that quick, sharp eye roll. I wish there was a hole for me to crawl inside and die. Of course he’s disgusted. How could he not be?

Inside, the party is chaos—bodies crammed into every corner, music pounding so loud I can feel it rattle my ribs. We shove and squeeze our way down the hall, practically dragging Robert between us. He shuffles his feet just enough to make the task harder.

We finally dump him onto the bed in one of the spare rooms, and he sprawls out like a starfish, mumbling something incoherent. Seth mutters something I can’t hear, but I know it isn’t nice. I don’t blame him.

I don’t say anything—just turn and walk straight into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

The mirror is cruel—hair a mess, mascara smeared like bruises. I splash cold water on my face and take a few deep breaths, but it doesn’t help. God, I’m so fucking tired. Tired of this. Tired of him. Tired of feeling like my life doesn’t even belong to me anymore.

When I open the door, Seth’s there—hand frozen mid-air like he was about to knock.

“Oh,” he stammers, his face flushing red. “I wasn’t… uh… I wasn’t trying to—”

“It’s fine,” I cut him off, feeling the heat creeping into my own cheeks.

“I just…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I wanted to check on you.”

I lean against the doorframe, afraid I might fall over if I don’t. “I’m okay, I guess. I’m just… I don’t know.” I sigh deeply, bowing my head to massage my temples with one hand. “Tired.”

His eyes soften—that look he gives when he’s seeing right through me, peeling back every layer I’ve tried so hard to keep sealed away.

“Tired of his shit?”

A sharp laugh slips out—more bitter than anything. “Pretty much.”

His hand lands on my shoulder—warm and steady—and something in me feels like it might break. Suddenly, I’m wondering what that hand would feel like on the rest of my body, and the immediate guilt that washes over me is like a punch to the gut.

“I don’t blame you,” Seth says quietly. “I love Robert… he’s my best friend… but…” His hand squeezes my shoulder, just enough to make my chest tighten. “You deserve better, Tiff. You know that. I don’t have to tell you.”

My stomach twists. Jesus, don’t say that. Don’t make me want you even more than I already do…

“He’s not so bad,” I manage, voice thin and brittle. “He’s amazing when he’s sober.”

Seth snorts under his breath. “Yeah… but when is that?”

My gaze drops to the floor. I don’t have an answer for that. Not one that isn’t pathetic. And as much as I want to give in—to lay my head on Seth’s shoulder and let him hold me—there’s still a part of me that feels the need to defend Robert, even if he is a deadbeat drunk.

“Well… either way,” I mumble, breaking away from Seth’s touch. ‘’We’ve been together a long time. It’s not that easy Seth. You know that.’’ .’’ I push a loose curl out of my face, letting my gaze drop to the floor. ‘’ And besides…he needs me.”

Seth’s hand drops awkwardly to his side, and I hate how cold I feel without it.

“But what about what you need?” he asks. His voice is softer now – almost pleading — and I swear there’s a hint of desperation in his eyes. God… is he trying to make this harder on me?

“I need him just as much as he needs me,” I manage weakly, but the words taste like ash on my tongue.

Seth’s eyes narrow as he searches my face. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

His question hits me like a ton of bricks. Heat creeps up the back of my neck. My lips part, but no words come out. Instead, I stare up at him, open mouthed.

“Holy shit,” Seth mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “That was… completely out of line.” He pauses, shaking his head sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I say, glancing up at him with a weak smile. “You’re right, I suppose.”

He stares at me, that fire of longing still burning in his eyes. Silence stretches between us. I fidget nervously, breaking eye contact to pick at an imaginary piece of fuzz on the front of my sweater.

“Well… I should probably get going,” Seth says finally, clearing his throat. “You need a ride home?”

“Nah, I’m good,” I say, throwing a glance toward the bedroom where Robert is still passed out. “Don’t want him to wake up and shit bricks.”

Seth throws his head back in open-mouthed laughter. “Yeah, no shit! I guess somebody’s gotta babysit little Robbie.”

I push him away teasingly. “You’re fucking terrible,” I say, but I’m laughing too. I can’t help it.

He peeks into the bedroom. “He’s sawing fucking logs in there. You gonna sleep here and drive him home in the morning?”

“Looks that way.”

“Well, call me if you need me,” he says, turning toward me. His mouth opens like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. He just turns and starts down the hall.

I stand frozen—slack-jawed, fingernails digging into my palms—as I watch him disappear into the crowd. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I just say it? Why can’t I speak the words I’ve been thinking for months now? I’m a mess… stuck with another mess. A man I’ll never love. A man who isn’t Seth.

I take a deep breath and run a hand through my messy blonde curls, turning on my heel towards the bedroom. I stand in the doorway for a moment, staring somberly at Robert as he sleeps. A tear slips from my eye, and I quickly brush it away with the sleeve of my sweater. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to hold back my emotion.

I remember when I loved him the way he loved me. When everything was easy, and the sparks still flew between us. But here, in this moment—as I force myself to crawl in next to him—my nostrils filling with the stale scent of cigarette smoke and liquor, I know in my heart that those days are long gone.