You’d been with Jacoby for a few years now and you shared a house.

The two of you were always throwing parties and drinking; having fun. But lately, he’d been drinking excessively and you were always left to clean up his messes, being a people pleaser you dealt you had to.

You’d tried to help him; you really had, but he just wouldn't listen to you.

You’d had enough.

Jacoby woke up and his head was pounding, god he needed a drink and a smoke. So with a groan, he got out of bed, pretending the still-healing scars on his legs didn't bother him as he pulled his pants on, and headed to the kitchen to find something to drink.

“What the hell?” he muttered when he found you’d dumped all the bottles down the sink. He rustled around and the sound of empty glass bottle clinking together simultaneously killed his head and alerted you he was awake.

You were sitting on the couch, watching TV when he stomped into the living room like a moody teen. “What the hell babe?” he said dryly, the word ‘Babe’ sounding like venom. “Do you know how much money all that stuff cost? Why in the fuck would you dump it all??”