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Ward has a bottle in his left hand.
He starts to drink. He chugs.
He makes a sour face and shakes his head.
He looks at the baby blue bottle.
“Why do chicks love vanilla vodka? What the fuck? This tastes awful.”
“Ward, you’re screwing everything up.”
“You did that,” he says, pointing to me. “You did it. I’m in rehab, thinking about you… and you’re fucking someone else? You have that hockey player in your bed, right? You’re probably sucking his dick all hours of the night. How are your classes going, huh?”
Ward slams the bottle down on the coffee table and grabs a textbook.
He starts to tear out pages. He throws them up into the air.
“You’re not going to make it to med school,” he says. “You’ll end up chasing that hockey player around. Fucking him for his money.”
“You don’t get to say stuff like that to me, Ward. Not anymore. You’ve been an asshole for a long time. Don’t take your shit out on me.”
He throws the ripped-up textbook into the air.
I make my move.
I jump at him and shove him out of the way.
I’m at the door a second later.
Ward manages to get a handful of my hair.
He pulls and the stinging pain fills my eyes with water.
I stumble back and fall to the floor.
He’s still pulling my hair, trying to drag me.
I twist and grab at his wrist and claw as hard as I can.
Ward lets out a scream and lets me go.
“I’m fucking bleeding! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Before I can get back to my feet, Ward grabs the vodka bottle and goes to guard the door.
“You’re not leaving this room, Mila.”
“Okay. So what’s the plan? I’m going to be held captive?”
“Yeah. I want answers.”
“Fuck you.”
“Okay,” he says. “It’s been a minute since I last had some pussy. Let’s go for it.”
He grabs the front of his jeans and laughs.
I grab another textbook off the table and fling it at him like a thick, heavy frisbee.
