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I push open the bathroom, walking towards the counter and hopping up. My legs swing back and forth, and Betty hands me a glass. I don’t bother sipping like a nice, polite girl would; instead, I swallow the drink down in one, doing the same with the second one I grab from her hand.
“Are you okay?”
“Just fucking peachy,” I answer dryly, letting my head fall against the mirror behind me. “Who wouldn’t be with two parents that hate their guts.”
“We can go?”
Looking at her, I raise a brow. If I had a choice in this, I would, but it’s never that simple, is it.
“Fuck your mum,” she snaps, brushing her red curls behind her ears. “If I ever get the chance, I’ll wring her fucking neck. I swear to you, Fallon.”
“I don’t doubt it, but I don’t want to lose my best friend to jail, so maybe we keep the killing to a minimum.”
“Fine.” She scowls at me, folding her arms. “But fuck this. Stay here, I’m going to rob a bottle from somewhere, and we’re getting drunk. Fuck them all to hell.”
She’s gone, stalking out of the bathroom before I can respond. I promised myself I wouldn’t get too drunk tonight, and I’m already halfway there. I should tell her no, but when she slips back into the room with a bottle of wine for each of us, I take one off her without hesitation. I’m eighteen and my life is a piece of shit.
What do I have to lose by getting wasted yet again?
“There you are,” my mother hisses when I step out of the lift. She leans in, sniffing me with a wrinkled nose. Her eyes narrow, at least I think they do. At this point, I can barely see a thing. “Have you been smoking?”
“Yep,” I reply happily, a wide smile on my face. “Mari-ju-an-a, if you must know, Mother.”
Her eyes turn deadly, darkening as she steps into me. She means to look scary—I think, but the only thing she looks right now is amusing.
I giggle, unable to stop myself, though I don’t try very hard. When Betty stumbles behind me, falling into a waiter, the giggles come harder.
Oops. Silly me.
I know I shouldn’t have admitted to smoking weed. Or smoking at all, but the words slipped out, and now I’m giggling, and I think my mother is going to beat me to a pulp.
Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me?
“You’re an absolute embarrassment to the Marsh name.”
“Well, obviously,” I snort, swaying on my heels. I need some water or something, because there’s two of her standing in front of me, and I’m sure my mother is not a twin, at least that I know of. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Her hand wraps around my bicep, her long nails digging into the skin hard enough to leave indents behind.
“Careful, Mother, people may see and that mother-of-the-year crown you try so hard to wear in front of your friends may just fall off.” She doesn’t loosen her hold, if anything, it becomes tighter and my skin burns under her grip.
“Now listen here, young lady.”
“Enough of the young lady, it’s becoming very tiresome to be spoken to like a three-year-old.”
Someone stop me from talking.
Please.
She opens her mouth to reply, but something catches her eye over my shoulder and she shuts it again quickly. A smile takes over her face, though, it looks out of place; it must be because I’m so used to her scowling.
“Gregory,” she gushes, her tone sickly-sweet. The hand holding my arm loosens, the grip becoming softer and more maternal.
Is that a thing?
A maternal grip?
I don’t know, but it’s not something I’ve ever felt from her before.
