Chapter 4 Out of Control

The dim lights of the bar glowed warmly as Hazel stepped inside, the soft hum of conversations blending with the clinking of glasses and the low thump of music in the background. She hesitated for a second, feeling the weight of everything she had been holding in. But then she spotted an empty stool at the far end of the bar and made her way over.

Sliding onto the stool, she signaled the bartender and ordered a drink. Something strong. Something that would help her forget.

She sipped slowly at first, letting the alcohol burn its way down her throat, easing some of the tension in her chest. After a while, the edges of her emotions softened. The drink dulled the sharpness of the heartbreak, but it wasn't enough. Not tonight.

Hazel ordered another drink, and another. With each sip, she let go a little more, sinking into the music and the buzz of the crowd around her. She lost herself in the moment, the weight of Michael, Stacy, and everything else fading into the background.

At some point, a man sat down beside her. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a cocky grin that screamed confidence. He made a casual comment about her drink, and before she knew it, they were talking. Hazel flirted with him, laughing louder than usual, her words slurring a little as she leaned in closer to hear him over the noise of the bar. He smiled, but there was something in his eyes-a flash of curiosity, maybe even confusion, as if he couldn't quite figure out how a woman like her was here, alone and so far gone.

After a while, the drinks caught up to Hazel, her head feeling heavy, her vision blurring. She barely remembered the rest of the conversation, only snippets of his smile, his voice becoming distant, and the warm haze of alcohol pulling her under. She lost track of time, her world spinning.

The next morning, Hazel woke up with a pounding headache, her mouth dry as sandpaper. The sunlight streaming through the window hit her eyes like a laser, making her groan as she pulled the blankets over her head.

Wait... blankets?

She blinked, her brain still foggy, and slowly realized she wasn't in her own bed. Hazel sat up quickly, her heart pounding, and looked around. She was in Nathan's room, his familiar posters on the wall, his clothes scattered across the floor. Glancing down, she realized she wasn't wearing her clothes from the night before. Instead, she was in one of Nathan's oversized T-shirts, which hung loosely around her frame.

Her pulse quickened as her gaze fell on Nathan. He was lying next to her on top of the covers, wearing only boxers, his arm draped casually across his chest, still fast asleep.

Panic surged through her as she replayed the events of the previous night, trying to piece together what had happened. She was in Nathan's bed. She was in his T-shirt. And he was half-dressed.

Oh God, did we...?

Her heart raced as she tried to remember, but nothing came. Everything was a blur after the guy at the bar. She buried her face in her hands, guilt and embarrassment washing over her in waves.

At that moment, Nathan stirred, blinking groggily as he stretched and rolled over to face her. He gave her a sleepy grin. "Morning, Haze."

"Nate..." Hazel's voice trembled. "What happened last night? I... did we...?"

Nathan's eyes widened for a second, then he sat up, shaking his head quickly. "No! No, Haze. Nothing happened. I swear."

She sighed, relief flooding through her, though the embarrassment still burned in her cheeks. "Then... why am I wearing your T-shirt? And why aren't you wearing anything?"

Nathan chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You blacked out at the bar. I brought you back here. You were... a little messy, so I helped you change into something more comfortable. Don't worry, nothing weird happened. I just wanted you to be comfortable. And as for me," he shrugged, "you know I sleep in boxers. It's no big deal."

Hazel buried her face in the pillow, mortified. "I'm such an idiot."

Nathan laughed softly, patting her shoulder. "You're not an idiot. You're just... going through some stuff. It happens. You're safe, though. That's all that matters."

Hazel sighed heavily. "I feel like I'm dying."

"You drank enough to knock out a horse," Nathan teased. "But you'll survive."

Suddenly, a wave of nausea rolled through Hazel's stomach, and she bolted from the bed, barely making it to the bathroom in time. She vomited violently, clutching the sink for balance as the room spun around her.

"Definitely hungover," she muttered, splashing cold water on her face. As she wiped her face with a towel, she glanced at the clock on Nathan's wall. Her heart sank. "Oh no."

"What's up?" Nathan called from the bedroom.

"I'm an hour late for work!" Hazel shouted, scrambling to find her shoes and bag.

Nathan appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, his brow furrowed. "You can't drive, Haze. Your car's still at the bar."

Hazel froze. Her car. She'd completely forgotten about it in her rush to get ready. "Oh God," she groaned.

Nathan grabbed his keys. "I'll drive you. Let's get you home, and then I'll take you to work."

On the drive, Hazel kept her head against the cool window of Nathan's car, trying to shake the remnants of last night. The hangover was brutal, but Nathan was driving calmly, and she was grateful for his patience. They didn't speak much during the ride, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was Nathan-always steady, always there when she needed him most.

When they reached her apartment, Hazel rushed inside, throwing on fresh clothes, splashing water on her face to mask the exhaustion before Nathan drove her to work.

Rushing into work, Hazel hoped she could sneak in without drawing too much attention. Her head pounded, her body still recovering from the hangover, and her nerves were frayed. She needed to pull herself together.

But as soon as she stepped into the hallway, she froze.

There, just a few feet away, stood Stacy and Michael. They were leaning against the wall, laughing together, their hands brushing as they flirted openly. The sight of them hit Hazel like a punch to the gut, the nausea rising in her throat again.

Without thinking, Hazel turned and rushed to the nearest bathroom, barely making it to the sink before she vomited again. The sick taste lingered in her mouth as she leaned against the sink, shaking with a mixture of disgust and anger.

She wiped her mouth, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes bloodshot. The remnants of last night still clung to her, but it wasn't just the hangover anymore. Seeing them together like that-it was too much.

She couldn't do this anymore.

Hazel left the bathroom and headed straight for her boss's office. Without thinking, without planning, she opened the door and walked in. "I quit," she said, her voice shaking but firm.

Her boss looked up, startled. "What? Hazel, wait-"

But she was already gone. Hazel walked out of the office, grabbed her things, and left the building without looking back.

As she stepped outside into the fresh air, she took a deep breath. For the first time in a long time, she felt free, even if she didn't quite know what was coming next.