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“Baby, please,” I beg as he puts a hand on my shoulder to ensure I don’t go anywhere. “I love you.” I’m not truly talking anymore, a sob constricting my throat.
“You’re a liar, Rachel.”
I expect a harsh slap like he usually does. Because of my naivety, I don’t see it. His right hand coming at me. I don’t understand until the tumbler of whiskey smashes against my face, cutting into me while the strength of the gesture pushes me to the floor simultaneously.
My vision blurs, tears of blood dripping down my face.
Here and now, I see it clearly.
That I’m going to die tonight.
21
ROSE
THERAPY!- Lauren Sanderson
There’s a loud bang as Luke puts the bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the table.
“Absolutely fucking not,” Chris tells all of us, his voice low and with only a tinge of temptation in it.
Jake and I explode in a laughing fit, but Chris scowls at me.
“Do you need me to remind you what happened the last time we all got together and got too drunk on Jack?”
He rolls up the sleeve of his denim shirt to show the awful, wonky tattoo I gave him in senior year. We had too much to drink, but we were drunk on friendship and happiness. And yes, I guess also whiskey. We all share this horrible tattoo now. Chris and I on our forearms. Jake on his shoulder, and Luke…
As if he could read my mind, Luke pulls down the gray sweatpants he’s wearing to show the bottle of Jack Daniel’s tattooed on his butt cheek.
“Come on,” I laugh. “I will stay far away from any tattoo gun, I promise.”
“Maybe I should just look after all of you,” Chris mumbles.
“I can’t remember if you were boring before Harvard or if it happened there,” Luke interjects. “We never see each other anymore, don’t be like that.”
Jake doesn’t even try to convince him. He’s already opening the bottle of Jack and pouring four tumblers.
We’re staying in Chris’s basement that was long ago turned into a place where we chill and get drunk.
“We only have one bottle anyway,” Luke keeps going. “So you might as well enjoy it while it lasts.”
“No shooting guns. No fucking up the place.” He turns to me for his last words. “No tattoos.”
“Cross my heart,” I smile as I do the sign of the cross.
“Cheers,” Jake tells us without even clinking his glass. He downs his drink, and Luke and I follow.
“Whatever,” Chris mumbles before downing his own glass.
We’re spread out on two different sofas, music playing in the background, when my brother turns to me. I can tell he’s going to ask something I don’t like before he even opens his mouth.
“So,” he clasps my knee and shakes it. “How’s Rach?”
I cackle a laugh, throwing my head back. When I look back up, they’re all staring at me intensely. Waiting for me to explain whatever the fuck I’ve been up to lately.
“You guys are suckers for good gossip, aren’t you?”
Chris shrugs. He’s more than a friend. Having been my foster brother for three years, I’ll always see him that way. “Just want to make sure you’re not setting yourself up for a disaster,” he tells me.
