“Refill?” the bartender asks me.
I shake my head. “No, I’m good.” I hate him. I hate that he’s pushing me this hard. I hate that he won’t leave me alone. I hate that he expects more out of me than I can ever give.
I am falling.
Beneath every sentiment I expel.
“Cheers.” Ryke raises his glass, pausing for a brief second, giving me an out. Telling me to stop him.
Stop him.
Stop him.
The rim hits his lips.
I am rigid. I am screaming at myself to move. To be a goddamn decent human being. To be worth this life that I’ve been given. And yet, I watch him, with deadness inside of me.
He drinks alcohol.
And I think: now we’re even.
For having the better life. For knowing about me for so long and doing nothing. For not standing up for me in the media and ending this torment.
It’s a thought that twists my face with brutal guilt.
He licks his lips, disappointment flashing in his eyes. Why does he have to be so goddamn good?
“I hope you enjoyed that,” he says angrily.
“Which part?” I snap on impulse. “Me drinking or watching you do it?”
Hit me. His muscles flex, a vein pulsing in his neck. And instead of raising his fist, he grabs the glass, about to drink more.
My lungs explode, and I pry it from his fingers quickly and hand it to the bartender. “He’s done.” I start to slide off the barstool as I say, “If you’re this big of an asshole sober, I can’t imagine what kind of asshole you are drunk.”
Before I leave, he grabs my arm. “You can’t do this shit.” Stop. Talking. “You’re supposed to call me if you have a craving to drink. I could have talked you out of it.”
“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you!” I scream. I climb off the barstool, and he follows suit, standing one inch taller. Face to face. Both wearing scowls so dark that you’d think we were mortal enemies, not brothers.
There is so much he’s never told me about his past. And I keep waiting to hear it. I never push. That’s not something I’d ever do to him. But the longer he stays quiet, the harder it’s become for both of us. We’ve hit a roadblock in our relationship, and I’m banging my head against brick while he watches me bleed.
“Then call Lily,” he says, “your fucking fiancée, who would be in tears if she saw you right now. Did you fucking think about her when you drank? Did you consider what this would do to her?”
No. I can’t think about her when I drink. It hurts too much. “I’m done with this shit,” I say. I try to walk away from this.
He grabs my arm.
Let me go. Please.
“You can’t run from your fucking problems. They’re there twenty-four-seven. You have to deal.”
“Don’t talk about dealing. You won’t even text Dad back. You’re ignoring him like he’s not even alive.” I shake my head. “You’re doing the same thing to him that you did to me. So why don’t you just do what you do best and pretend that I don’t fucking exist.”
I watch the pain take ahold of his features. I stabbed him the only way I know how, and then I just push right on by.
I just leave.
Wishing that I was someone else.
{ 54 }
2 years : 01 month
September
LOREN HALE
Outside of the pub, Daisy howls at the stars, standing on the sidewalk. “We’re in the land of tall people!”
My brother starts talking to her. He’s smiling.
I shift my dead gaze to the night sky. I want to be happy that Daisy isn’t as sullen as when we first arrived, though she looks frail and sleepless circles shadow her eyes. But she’s laughing.
That’s good.
Connor keeps a hand on my shoulder. I think if he takes it off I’m going to fall. He says something, but I barely register his words.
Sports fans in jerseys parade across the street in dead-stop traffic. The game must’ve ended.
I hate what I’ve done tonight.
It’s rushing back to me tenfold. Not enough liquor to numb this onslaught. A couple guys start screaming beside the curb, and I rest my hands on my head.
“Lo,” Connor breathes.
I turn to him, but Ryke suddenly sidles up to us. Connor takes a step back so I can speak to my brother. And my eyes cloud with tears. “You shouldn’t have had that whiskey,” I say, the apology stuck in my throat.
Say it.
I can’t. I pinch my eyes.
“One glass isn’t going to make me fucking addicted, Lo.”