Ava
“Chris, are you… drunk?”
Chris took a stumbling step forward, the bottle of brandy sloshing dark, sticky liquid all over his shoes. He narrowed his eyes at me and took another swig. “What does it look like?” he ground out through clenched teeth, his words slurred.
I stood there for a moment, gaping at the scene in front of me: Chris looked positively disheveled, quite possibly more drunk than I had ever seen him. His hair was a mess, strands falling into his face. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, his five o’clock shadow showing, dark circles ringing his eyes.
“What’s going on?” I whispered, striding up to him to catch him in case he fell. “Why are you so drunk?”
Before I could reach him, however, he took a shambling step backwards and lifted the brandy bottle, ex
