Getting sober sucks. Your hands shake so much that you can't work. You can't drive - shouldn't have even driven as far as you did to hole up in a lonely, anonymous motel room. And you know it could all be better with a drink. There's even a liquor store not a quarter mile up the road with a neon sign you can see from your dirty window. You'd be steadier at least, and with enough drinks maybe you'd be able to forget the look on his face.
But that look was the reason you're trying to stay away from the bottle. That look like you'd broken him in two just with a stupid, careless night after too much alcohol. You curse your stupid dick that was still able to get up after drinking more than your fair share. But the body that had slid up to you in the bar had been pretty and warm, and you'd lost track of your boy (where had he been?), and there couldn't be anything wrong with a body that felt so good against yours, right? But the hurt in those dark eyes the next morning, backlit by painful bright sun, was something you hadn't expected at all. There was room for slip ups and mistakes between you because you never promised anything, but the look of betrayal had you thinking that maybe there had been promises made without you realizing it. And breaking a promise was a shitty thing to do.
So maybe you're punishing yourself just a little. Maybe the shakes and feeling like shit are a little bit of penance even though you know it won't change anything. He'd said he never wanted to see you again, and it's a big country. You probably never will.