John sat in his room, the dim light from a nearby lamp casting long shadows on the walls. His head throbbed from the whiskey he had been drinking, but the pain in his chest was far worse. Isabelle's betrayal had cut him deeper than he ever thought possible. He had given her everything, his heart, his trust and she had thrown it all away. Now, the images of her with Alex, the lies, and the humiliation all played on a loop in his mind, tormenting him. He could barely stand to look at her photos, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about her and from wanting answers that he knew he would never get.
Rachel, Emily and Rebecca had tried to console him over the past few days, but their words barely registered. They seemed distant, their voices muffled by the noise in his head. Each time they tried to talk to him, to pull him out of his spiraling grief, he shut them out, retreating further into his own misery.