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I first went into the kitchen, got a glass of water, and drank that before refilling it. I wasn’t trashed, but I had a pretty intense buzz going on.
I set the cup in the sink and it tipped over, the sound seeming so loud. I thought for sure I’d woken him up. I froze, looking up at the ceiling, trying to tell if he was getting up. I had no idea if he could hear it. But maybe I should’ve been more concerned about Matthew catching me in this condition. He was, after all, far more intense than my dad.
But he’d left the house hours ago, right after Georgia had gone home. I’d heard him leave, the sound of his truck starting and driving off in the distance.
I closed my eyes and exhaled. Maybe some fresh air would do me some good. Maybe I just needed to go sit on the deck and let myself sober up.
I started walking out of the kitchen, feeling a little dizzy, and braced my hand on the wall to steady myself. Then I found my way toward the back door, gripped it, pulled it open, and a gust of fresh air moved over me. For a moment I just stood there, closing my eyes and letting that coolness move over me. It felt good, calming.
And for just a second I didn’t feel buzzed at all. But then the sound of a floorboard creaking to my right had me snapping my eyes open and looking to the side. There, leaning against the banister with a bottle of whiskey in his hand, was Matthew.
He stared right at me, the shadows concealing his face, his big body seeming to dwarf the deck. I contemplated just leaving, heading back inside, maybe going to my room and sleeping this off. Because he’d know I had been drinking. I knew it.
But a part of me didn’t want to leave. I found myself moving forward and stepping onto the deck. I shut the door behind me and tried to act sober.
It felt strange being here, seeing him when I was in this condition, when I knew how I felt about him. It felt different in the way that had me more tuned in to my love for him, as if my feelings were more heightened.
And I didn’t know if I liked that, or if it scared the hell out of me.
But it looked like I wasn’t smart enough to know better and turn away. It looked like they called alcohol liquid courage for a reason.
* * *
Matthew
As soon as I saw the back door open, I knew it was Ivy. I instantly smelled the sweet, floral fragrance that always seemed to surround her.
After everyone had eaten cake and talked, and after I’d overheard Ivy and Georgia talking, I went to the convenience store and bought a bottle of whiskey. It had been a combination of my feelings for her, the guilt I felt, but also this possessive and jealous side of me knowing she’d be going to a party.
I’d been her age once. I knew the shit that went down at those things.
And when I’d come back to the house with the purchase, I’d gone straight to the deck. I’d kept the porch light off and drank in the darkness.
For the last hour, I’d been nursing the fuck out of the bottle.
My feelings for her were growing stronger by the day, and I was afraid of being around her, afraid that I wouldn’t be able to control myself, that my desires would overcome rationalization.
She stepped out onto the deck and closed the door behind her. I brought the bottle up to my mouth and took a drink, watching her the whole time. I’d been nursing this fucker and I still had half a bottle.
Drinking wasn’t the way to solve my problems, but it sure was helping numb the pain I felt with the knowledge I could never have her.
I watched her as she came closer and braced herself against the banister, her hand curling around the edge of it. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet, and as the wind picked up, I could smell the scent of peaches and alcohol clinging to her.
“Hey,” she said, and I heard the slight slurring of her voice.
I knitted my brows, but didn’t move closer. I didn’t trust myself to. “Are you okay?” I set the bottle down on the ground beside me and straightened. I didn’t want her seeing me drinking. Although I had a decent buzz going on, so not a whole lot fucking mattered right now.
But where Ivy was concerned, she was always my priority. She always mattered.
“I’m fine,” she said.
But I knew that she’d been drinking. It was the way her eyes looked glossy, the fact that her pupils were dilated. Her cheeks were pink and her gait was unsteady. Not to mention she smelled of alcohol.
