Hayes hasn’t ordered a glass for himself, which I find a bit odd, but I don’t pay much mind to it. With his eyes boring a hole in my skull, I take a healthy gulp from my glass, but I only get a few sips in before a sudden pain crowds my throat. At first, I assume it’s just from the burn of the alcohol, but then my windpipe constricts on itself, and I can’t breathe.
Hes so fucking stupid
