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“Fine. I’ve got stuff at home. I just didn’t wanna be alone, you know?” The words come out, but they’re like mush stuck to the roof of my mouth. I’m not sure how much was understandable.
“What’s wrong, buddy? Why don’t you want to be alone?” Scotty wraps his arm around my neck, stabilizing me as he guides me toward the exit.
“Thanks, Scotty!” Jimmy calls.
My foot gets caught on the threshold of the door and I tumble over, practically taking Scotty with me.
He lets out a pained grunt, helping me to stand. “Christ. How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough.” I double over. “Fuck I’m gonna upchuck.”
“Oh, dude. I swear if you puke in my car, I will drop you at the bottom of the Charles.”
“A nap with the fishes.” I can’t help but laugh as the vomit pours from me, not giving a shit that we’re in the middle of the walkway. “Sounds wonderful. Let’s go.”
“Shut up and get in the car.”
I kick off my vomit-covered sneakers, leaving them where they are, then make my way toward the parked car in front of us. I hit the unlock button on the key fob right before he rips open the passenger door. When I go to open it, the door doesn’t budge.
“Calm down, big guy,” Scotty mumbles. He pulls out his keys, then unlocks the door and helps me get settled.
The engine roars to life, and my chest hums with the sound, despite this shitty night.
“Dec.” Scotty lets out a huff, pulling into the street. “I thought we stopped this.”
My fists clench in anger, and I glance out of the window, choosing not to respond. Not while the pain is too raw. Being without her is too hard. I bite the inside of my lip. Fuck, the last time I’d said that I meant Cara. Now? Nowheris Samira, and I’m a waste of oxygen if I can’t get my shit together for her.
I’d been cruel to her. She was hurting, raising her children alone. And I made her feel like a dick for hiding her secrets from me.I hurt her. Placed my hand around her throat, even knowing choking was her hard limit.
“It’s not healthy to keep drinking so much. Forget the fact that it’s reckless and if our enemies know they can find you on a barstool, wasting away, they can use that to hurt the family. This is about your mental and physical health,” Scotty says when I don’t answer him.
“Mental health?” I let out a boisterous laugh. “My mental health has been fucked since the day Cara killed herself, Scotty. I’ll never get any sort of clarity.”
“Then you need to seek professional help, not the bottom of the bottle.”
“Fuck that. No one can help me. Do you know what it’s like to always relive the worst day of your life? To wake up and see it, smell it, hear it over and over?” I tap a finger against my temple. “I’m a fucking prisoner to my mind. One more death, Scotty. One more murder, and I don’t know if I can take it. I pray every day I’ll wake up and I’ll forget who I am. What I’ve done. But there is no god to save me. There isnothingto shut it off.”
“Stop it, man,” he says, his voice low and broken.
“The alcohol helps, Scotty. It makes the images distort; it takes away my pain. I thought . . .” My voice trails into nothingness, a soft laugh leaving me. “I thought she would. But she fucking lied to me.”
“Who?” he ask, his brows furrowing.
But I don’t answer. I let sleep take me from the pain.
Cold water splashes in my face, pulling me from a deep sleep. I shoot up, let out a sharp gasp, and look around the room. I’m in Saoirse’s living room. The scent of alcohol seeping through my pours makes my stomach turn sour.
“Fuck!” I shout when more water dumps over the top of my head.
“Oh good,” Saoirse sings. “You’re awake.”
“Yeah, because you dumped water on me like a sadist.”
She lets out a huff, one hand on her hip, the other dangling a towel in front of me. I swipe at it and start drying off my upper body.
“If I’m a sadist, you’re a masochist. Drinking yourself into a stupor. Making my husband leave in the middle of the night to get your ass before you wind up in jail again,” she says.
“Technically, you’re not married yet.”
