My face contorts in malignant irritation. He did not call me over here for this shit. “Tough enough to not roll my eyes at you.” I don’t have a chance to flash a dry smile.
When a foot separates us, he clamps a hand on my shoulder, his fingers digging in. I hear little shit on his tongue, but he swallows that insult down with his drink. “How fucking tough are you, Loren?” he asks, the bar behind him.
I grit my teeth. “Is there a fucking level? Scale one through ten? A numerical system? What do you want from me?”
He breathes heavily, his nose flaring. “In a few weeks, we’re going to see what kind of man you really are. You can sell me down the river, son.” He sets his glass too forcefully on the bar, and a fissure snakes through the crystal.
“What are you talking about?” My pulse kicks up a notch.
“You’re going to be hearing some things soon,” my dad says with a curled lip. He’s drunk. Wasted. I can see it in his glazed, pained eyes. “Maybe it’s punishment, on my part. For thinking that I could raise a bastard as anything more than what you are.” His tongue runs over his teeth in distaste. No guilt flashes. No fucking remorse.
His words slice straight into me. My jaw locks, my muscles burning as they tighten. I’m just a bastard then. “Tell me what’s going on,” I sneer. “Is it about Lily?” I hate the desperation in my voice.
“Don’t whine like a little girl,” he says with a grimace. His hand lifts off my shoulder and clutches the side of my face. I can see Ryke stand up from his chair in my peripheral.
He can’t get in the middle of this. I need fucking answers. I try to give my brother a look that says: don’t come near me. But my father forces my face towards his.
“Look at me,” he growls.
I have no other choice. Our foreheads almost fucking touch we’re so close. I smell the alcohol on his breath, and it grips my stomach in new, horrifying ways. His hand drifts to the back of my head. “Are you tough, son?” he repeats, drunk out of his fucking mind, upset about something he heard.
“Just tell me,” I say lowly. “Why can’t you fucking tell me?” He has all the answers. He’s always had the answers, and he keeps them from me. He always does.
He opens his mouth like he may let it out, but anger just warps his hard, coarse features. And then he says, “We’re going to burn, you and me.”
I search his eyes, and all I see is blackness. Mine begin to cloud. “What could be worse than what I’ve already been through?”
“You have no idea.”
I stifle a scream that tries to reach my throat. “I deserve answers.”
“You deserve nothing,” he says. “I’ve given you everything, Loren, including your life. You realize that, don’t you?”
A pain crashes into my chest. I lick my dry lips. “Yeah,” I say. “I realize that you’re the only one who wanted me. I get it. I’m just a bastard. Thanks.” I wait for him to let me go. I just need to walk away. I need something to drink—Christ.
I rub my lips.
I have to get out of here. He’s not going to tell me anything. He never does. I feel like I smashed my head against a wall.
I breathe heavily. “Lily…” I try to turn, to find her, but my dad grips the back of my head, harder.
I’ve given you everything, Loren.
I forgot what it feels like to stand against him when he’s this wasted and I’m not. It’s easier when I’m numb. It’s easier when we’re sinking in the same fucked up black hole. But he’s dragging me down, and every brutal cut tears into me. The weight of every word pummeling me.
I am sinking beneath it all.
Like quicksand I should’ve seen in front of me.
“Grow up,” he sneers. “You shouldn’t have to call your goddamn girlfriend when you’re feeling weak.” He removes his hand off my head, and taps my cheek, twice with force. My head jerks back on the second contact. And disgust lingers in my dad’s eyes. For not being strong enough to withstand a fucking slap to the face.
“Hey!” Ryke yells at him.
I feel Lily’s hand in mine almost immediately. And I spin around, done with this shit. Just over everything.
“Lo…” she says, hurrying next to me, but I readjust our hands, lacing my fingers with hers.
“Don’t leave me,” I whisper. I’m afraid of myself, I realize. I don’t want to drink.
Yes I do.
I do so fucking badly.