Weight of Hatred

"You both really need to stop this. Drinking to stupor definitely wouldn't bring her back to you," Xavier pleaded, his voice filled with concern and frustration.

"What would you know? You are not the one whose mate is missing, are you? Lucky you," Callan retorted bitterly, chugging down a whole bottle of scotch.

Cameron remained silent, his eyes dull and lifeless as he smoked in the corner of the room. This had become their routine for the past couple of weeks—drowning their sorrows in alcohol and cigarettes, hoping to numb the pain of Claire's disappearance.

Xavier's attempts to intervene and bring them back to reality seemed futile. They were spiraling out of control, and it pained him to see his friends in such a state.

"Smoking and drinking won't bring Claire back to you, you know that, right?" Xavier persisted, his gaze unwavering.

"And not doing that would bring her back?" Cameron finally spoke, his voice devoid of emotion. He looked disheveled and broken, mirroring the anguish