15. Blake #2
I laugh and brush my hand through the air, batting his compliment away.
This pulsing pressure inside me is gonna blow. I can feel it expanding, threatening to spew out of me in a volcanic, gassy eruption.
I’m not smart! I’m a loser with no control, and I’ve been systematically fucking up my life ever since I left home! Because I can’t live up to your expectations anymore! It’s too much. It’s all just too much!
Resting my head on Wily’s shoulder, I manage to keep that shit on lockdown and smile sweetly at my parents while they wrap up the call.
I say the “I love yous” I’m supposed to. I blow kisses. I make my parents laugh.
And then the call is over and I still can’t breathe, because my big brother is right there.
Shit, I can’t do this.
I can’t breathe!
This weird clawing sensation is scratching my insides raw, and I end up bolting off the couch as if someone just stuck me with a hot poker.
“You okay?” Wily frowns up at me.
“Yeah, I just…” Letting out this weird cackle, I quickly clear my throat and grin down at my big bro.
“I’ve got a hankering for Dr Pepper. I can’t even explain it.
I think I just need a sugar kick to get me through my afternoon study sesh.
Are you good if I split and do a little shopping? I should be back in about?—”
“Go.” He waves his hand toward the door. “I’ll be fine. Take as long as you need. I’m just gonna watch ESPN highlights and…” He sighs. “Finish reading that research I’m supposed to get through before Satch arrives for our tutoring session.”
I snort and scoff. “More like make-out session.”
“Hey, we work.” His eyes sparkle as his lips form a little smirk. “The making out is my reward for studying like a good boy.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, if I get that research read and start my study notes, we’ll get through it faster, and then we can…” His voice trails off as he scrambles for his laptop and the pile of pages next to it.
I help him get set up before walking out of the house and finally, finally inhaling my first full breath. Well, sort of. It feels shallow and does nothing to kill this antsy writhing in my stomach.
Bypassing Wily’s truck, I walk into town, needing the exercise or fresh air or whatever. It’s the first day of no rain we’ve had in ages, and I just want to enjoy the pale sunshine that’s breaking through the clouds.
I need to move. To breathe.
My steps are clipped, my boots pock-pock-pocking on the concrete as I walk.
Keeping my head down, I try to wrestle my chaotic thoughts into line, but I seriously have no hope. They’re swirling around me, and I’m caught in the middle of this impossible vortex.
What I wouldn’t give to break free of all these lies and?—
No! The lies are keeping you safe. The fallout is worse. It’s so much worse. Just hold yourself together.
Until when?
How long do I have to keep this up for?
Until you have a plan.
A plan.
Yeah, that elusive thing I’ve been chasing ever since I left my dorm room for good .
I have no idea what kind of plan to concoct around this shitty situation. I’ve been batting ideas around, but nothing solid comes to me. Nothing sticks, because all of my ideas suck!
Storming across the street, I make it into town a torrid mess. My mood is foul, and I’m not sure where I’m going or what to do.
I don’t feel like Dr Pepper. Or any kind of soda for that matter.
What I want is a drink. A real drink.
But I don’t have my fake ID anymore. Dammit!
With a huff, I slow my pace, figuring I’ll just wander around like I did on Friday, aimlessly trying to calm this storm in my chest.
No parties this time.
At least it’s the middle of the day. I’m safe. There will be no raves, orgies, or drunken blowouts happening right now. Well, not easily accessible ones anyway, so I won’t be tempted.
Although, a drink would be really nice right about now.
Just a little something to take the edge off. Not the reckless shots I did on Friday… and whatever else was put into my drink.
I shudder, not wanting to think about that.
But just a beer or two.
Or something to quell this storm inside me.
Looking up ahead, I take in my surroundings and notice a bottle shop across the street.
Don’t do it.
The only way I can get something out of there is smuggled in my bag or tucked inside my jacket pocket .
It’s not worth it.
Checking the street, I cross when there’s a break in the traffic and ignore my sensible brain, swinging the door open and wandering in like I’m supposed to be there.
The guy behind the counter eyes me up, and I give him a bright smile. “Hi there.”
He nods at me, obviously suspicious.
Bail now. This isn’t going to work!
Turning left, I head down the next aisle, scanning bottles of spirits while heading toward the beer fridge against the wall.
I sniff, then scratch the side of my nose, checking for cameras and mirrors. I glance up at the big convex one on the wall, a bubbly eyeball reflecting everything back to the man behind the counter.
Crossing my arms, I walk a little farther until I’m pretty sure I’m out of view.
Eyeing up the bottles, I wander along until I get to the smaller ones. There’s a half-pint of vodka right there that would easily fit into my bag.
Picking it up, I scan the label, then place it back on the shelf, turning away as if I’m not interested.
The bell above the door dings when a new customer comes in, and my insides do a little dance, hop-stepping it around my chest when the woman starts up a conversation.
“It’s my husband’s birthday next week, and I want to get him something special. He loves his scotch,” she’s saying while I take a step back to the smaller vodka bottles and pluck one off the shelf.
Slipping it into my bag, I glance around the aisle, making sure my disinterested mask is firmly in place before heading toward the exit.
“We’ve got a really nice Macallan 18 Year Sherry Oak that he’d probably like.” The man is smiling. I can hear it in his voice. “What’s your budget?”
I make a beeline for the door, stoked that he’s too distracted to notice me.
“Can you just give me a sec?” he says.
I’m two steps away from the door when a hand clamps around my arm. “I don’t think so, kid.”
“What?” I spin around, trying to wrench myself free of his viselike grip. “Get your hands off me.”
“I’m sick of you guys strolling in here and thinking you can just take off with my liquor!” he growls, completely unperturbed by my protests.
“I don’t have your liquor!” I shout back.
The old woman by the counter blinks at me in shocked surprise.
“I know you’ve got a bottle in your bag.” He glares at me. “I’m not stupid.” Yanking my arm, he drags me back toward the counter.
“Lemme go!” I snap.
“Not until I call the police. I’m sick of this happening.”
My insides flail, dread pooling in my stomach.
“I’m so sorry about this, ma’am.” He gives the woman an apologetic wince.
“No, it’s quite all right. You deal with this. I can wait.”
“No, no, no, wait! Please don’t call the police,” I rasp, pulling the bottle out of my bag and handing it to him. “Just take it back. I’ll go, and I promise never to come in here again. ”
“Not a chance,” he growls, forcing me into a seat before pulling out his phone and dialing.
“No, sir, please!” I lurch forward, trying to make a quick run for it, but he grabs my jacket, pulling me back down with a thump.
The older woman moves in front of me, her sweet face now puckered into a disapproving frown.
“Shame on you,” she mutters softly, shaking her head and making me feel like shit.
Dammit!
“I’m sorry,” I start to blubber. “Please, I’m sorry. Please, please, please don’t call the cops.” My voice hitches, panic racing through me so hard and fast I think I my pass out.
“You were trying to steal from me,” the man growls.
“I know. I know. And that is so wrong, and I’m sorry.” Tears burn my eyes. “I didn’t mean to do it. I’m just having a really shitty week, and I’m sorry. I’ll pay. I’ll pay you anything.”
He pauses, glaring down at me, his thumb hovering over his phone screen. Hope shimmers through my desperation, and I cling to it.
“Please.” I sit up, blinking at my tears.
“I’ll give you any amount you want.” I look at the woman.
“I’ll pay for your husband’s present! Please, just…
please don’t send me to jail.” I whimper, pressing the back of my hand against my mouth, my entire body shuddering as I imagine myself handcuffed in the back of a police car.
With a heavy sigh, the man drops his phone on the counter and crosses his arms. “I can’t sell you alcohol. You’re underage. ”
“I know,” I squeak. “That’s why I was trying to sneak out with it. I just needed something to take the edge off.”
The woman scoffs. “Drinking your problems away won’t solve anything, young lady.”
I close my eyes, covering my face with my hands and letting out another pitiful whimper.
This has got to be my lowest point ever, right?
With an angry huff, the man takes his sweet time trying to decide what to do with me. Then he finally gives me an alternative… and for a split second, I wonder if going to jail is a better option.
“I’m not letting you just walk out of here.
You need to call someone who is old enough to purchase this bottle.
They are going to come down here and collect you, and you are going to explain to them what you did.
Then they are going to pay me, and you are never going to step foot in this place again. Okay?”
With a soft sniff, I lower my hands and gape at him. “Call someone?”
“Yes.” He gives me a firm nod, and my insides flail.
Who the hell am I going to call?
This cannot be happening right now.
Fear claws at me, panic working right alongside it.
I’ve never been caught before.
You nearly got caught the other day, you idiot! If it weren’t for Grady, you’d be in this exact situation.
Shit. Where is he now?
Closing my eyes, I try to shake the question out of my head. Like he’d come and help me after the way I treated him.
I don’t deserve Grady Newman’s help.
But I have no idea who else I want right now .
He’s the only one who actually knows the truth. Unless he blabbed about it to Zander and Sienna.
But no, I don’t think he did.
Something tells me he’s kept my worst secret to himself.
And that’s why.
That’s why he’s the only person I can think of right now.
The only person I want walking through the door and saving me from…
Well, my own stupidity.