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Mondaymorning comes with a hang over and I groan as I roll out of bed. The effort makes my head pound and I cradle it in my hands, putting pressure on my temples. The clock on the wall says 9:45 and I have fifteen minutes to get to my appointment with Ms. Bakshi and I already know I blew it like last time. But the difference is last time I did this on purpose. This time I’m just a fucking idiot.
She doesn’t seem the kind of woman that will take kindly to me being late and reeking like beer. I stumble to the bathroom, still drunk and do my best to make myself look and smell human again.
My sunglasses don’t cut it as I leave my small basement apartment and outside my brother is waiting against my truck with his arms crossed.
“What are you doing here?” I ask and Zeke shrugs, his youthful aloofness had never left him.
“Del told me you got wasted last night, Jet had to drive you home.” The casualness in which he mentions all this dig at my shame because this is not unusual in my family. Coordinated strategies to move siblings around the volatile drunk.
“Still doesn’t answer why you’re here,” I try to move around my truck, but my little brother puts a large hand on my chest and pushes me back.
“I’m here to drive your drunk ass to your appointment. Jet had to work so he sent me. Believe me bro, I don’t want to me here as much as you don’t want me here. Let’s just get this done so I can go back to work.” He opens the door and gestures for me to get in.
My head is pounding too hard to argue and I slide into the passenger seat and close my eyes.
The creaking of the doors sounds like the jaws of life are tearing apart the metal and my thoughts spin around what they always do when I feel like this.
Maybe I am like him. I didn’t mean to drink this much. But I started thinking about this session, I took a sip, the thoughts kept coming, I kept drinking, hoping they would stop. They never stopped coming, I never stopped drinking.
The movement of the truck makes me nauseous and Zeke throws a water bottle at me and nods to the cup holder where two painkillers rattle around from the bumpy roads. In any other family this would be a kind gesture. A caring and thoughtful brother looking out for his own.
Not in my family.
In my family this is routine.
I hate myself for making them have to do this.
“Man, I–” I start but Zeke shakes his head.
“It’s fine. Really.” He rolls to a stop in front of the small beat up building that is wholly unworthy of Ms. Bakshi’s presence and throws the truck in park. “But, can I ask you something?”
I swallow the pills and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Of course.”
“Are you trying to fuck this all up?”
I’m stunned silent not only by his question but by the tone of desperation in his voice. This question is layered in a way my mind can’t grasp in this state.
“I dunno, Little Brother. I honestly don’t.”
“You have a kid now,” he says as if that answers everything. I let that thought take root as I walk up the cracked walkway. I have a kid now.
Do better.
Be better.
The implication is than him.
#
Thealcohol still present in my body is preventing me from being as nervous as I am, but my heart still pounds. My throbbing headache keeps in time with each beat.
I have zero time to prepare because she’s waiting for me, her arms crossed but her stare as non-judgmental as the last time I met her.
“Mr. Ryker. You’re late.” She gestures to a door and I pass by finding my way to the plush chair and lowering my aching body. “And your drunk?”
