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Deep down, he’s always blamed me for Mum leaving, because I was an annoying little shit. I blamed him for never caring for her, for telling her to, ‘Get your shit together, Samantha.’
One day, she got her shit and left.
For Lewis, people are machines. One button and they run. Another button and they stop.
Too bad he has a machine of a son who runs on a different type of liquid. I pour the last drops in the vodka bottle down my throat and groan when there’s nothing.
I tap my pocket for a joint of weed I stole from Ronan’s bag. Nope, nothing.
Did I smoke it earlier?
You mean when he was hugging her and you watched like a pussy?
Yes, whoever is talking to me right now. When he was squeezing her body to his and I watched through the window. Only, I did something. I crushed the glass in my hand and came out with a cut over my palm.
I bandaged it, but the cloth is red and full of dry blood.
Just beautiful.
Or fucked up – depends on how you look at it.
Kirian trotted over the moment Kim left, saying he couldn’t sleep. I gave him just a small piece of brownie since it’s night, and we played a video game until he dozed off, and I placed him in the room down the hall from mine.
I was about to resume my drinking session when Ronan sent me that text and I might have thrown good alcohol across the room. Then Ahmed came over. He doesn’t approve of my newest habits, and it’s not because of his religion.
He gave me a look. That one that says he might or might not be disappointed in how I’m wasting his efforts in bringing me up. He helped re-bandage my hand and left.
His silence sliced me more than Lewis’s words and I’ve been kind of drowning in an ocean of my own choice. Good old vodka.
The door to my room opens and I barely stare back. I’m sitting on the chair in the dark, an empty bottle hanging from one hand and the bandaged one lying limp on the other side.
The light goes on, blinding me. I squint, but I don’t move my gaze from the window.
“Turn it off,” I slur. “I can’t see if it’s too bright.”
Close to midnight, no sign of her.
Just brilliant.
Way to go, Ronan. You got me.
And we need to revisit our friendship now. Either I kill him or I kill him, there’s no between.
“The fuck?” Aiden stares down at me with both his hands in his pockets. “No one mentioned a self-pity party.”
“Fuck off.” I motion at the door with my bottle.
“Are you okay?” Cole approaches me while Aiden flops on my bed and rummages through my CDs, making himself at home.
“Give me that.” I motion at the joint in Cole’s mouth. He passes it over and I take a long drag, then blow the smoke back up. “Shit, it’s just a cigarette.”
“You’re welcome.” Cole retrieves his cigarette and inhales the smoke before exhaling it through his nostrils.
If he’s smoking, shit must be hitting the fan for him, too.
Cole is a mood smoker.
“What did your father say?” Cole asks.
