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“Nobody’s taking your money,” I groaned. I was too drunk for this. Why was Lars even talking to me? Didn’t he have a date to get back to?
“Of course, you’re not, because you’re a deadbeat, just like your dead ass father. Nobody in this town wants to work with you, outside of having you fix their shitty toilets. A shit man handling shit, that’s all you are. I wish you would’ve shot yourself when you killed your fucked-up mother,” he whispered, his voice low and coated in venom.
And just like that, the numb parts of my soul lit up inside of me as he spoke about my mother. “What do you want, Lars?” I snapped, standing up from the stool. “You want me to flip out? You want me to lose it? You want me to fight you? You want to make me out to be an asshole? Fine. Here, I am, Jax-fucking-Kilter! The asshole who killed his mother. The asshole who got beat by his father. The asshole who has nothing. You want the monster in me to come out? Here you go! Have at it! Give me your best shot,” I hissed, holding my arms out wide open. What did I have to lose?
“You really want to do this, Kilter?” Lars asked, seemingly surprised.
No. I didn’t want to fight Lars. I didn’t want to do anything. I was drunk, everything was spinning, and the numbness that I held was fading away.
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter,” I mumbled.
“What’s the matter with you, huh? Why are you such a weird fucking guy? Why are you always mumbling?” Lars barked. “I don’t know how Amanda put up with that.”
I didn’t want to deal with him. I didn’t want to deal with anyone. All I wanted was to be left alone.
As I turned to walk away, Lars gripped my shoulder and whipped me around to face him. “I’m not done talking to you, asshole!” he shouted, and without thought I slammed my fist straight into his face.
I didn’t mean to do that. I was walking away. All I wanted to go home.
I didn’t have a home…
Shit, shit, shit.
Before I could focus, Lars tackled me and sent me to the ground. We began wrestling as everyone in the bar shouted. Amanda sounded like she was crying. Some people cheered us on, others tried to split us up.
“Get the fuck out!” Ray shouted, pulling us from one another.
“Ray, sorry.” Lars stood to his feet. “He started it.”
“Save it, Lars. You’re a real dick for messing with Jax today of all days. Get the hell out,” he ordered. Ray reached a hand out toward me. “You good, Jax?”
I nodded but didn’t say anything else as I stood. My face hurt. My head hurt. My heart ached, too.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out cash, tossed it on the counter. “Sorry, Ray,” I muttered before stumbling out of the bar.
I began patting my pockets, for my keys when a voice called out to me.
“Jax!”
I looked up to see four Kennedys coming my way.
Two Kennedys.
Nope, just one.
“What are you d-doing here?” I stuttered, stumbling. I could’ve laid right on the sidewalk and been okay.
“I’m here to take you home,” she said, wrapping an arm around mine.
I yanked it away. “Home?” I laughed. “Good one, Kennedy.”
I began walking the opposite direction of her, and she chased after me. “Wait, Jax. Come on. You can stay at my place. You don’t have to do this alone.”
“Why not? That’s how I’ve been doing everything.”
“You’re drunk,” she whispered, coming back to me, and holding my arm. That electric shock she sent through me was still there. I hated how she warmed me up. I hated how being near her made things feel a tad bit better.
“I’m fucked up.” I sighed. “I should go. I need to get out of this town. I need to leave this place. I need to—”
