Page 17 of Released from the Sin Bin

He says he chose to leave to start a family with the love of his life. I know better than to believe that shit.

Opening the premium scotch first, I take a whiff. Disgusting. I inject the fluid down my throat in a shot from the bottle, letting some trickle out down my chin and onto my shirt.

The stench of it reminds me of him.

I wind back and toss the rest of the bottle up. Amber liquid spills out in an arch, and the bottle shatters against his golden helmet.

Next is the vodka. The taste isn’t any better, and I choke on the sting in my throat. Boom, right in his face against the tip of his sharp nose.

The tequila I can tolerate, and save that for last.

After the whiskey breaks against his shoulder pad, I chug the tequila down. Not too much that I can’t drive home after, but enough to take the edge off. I should’ve brought beer as a chaser.

I toss the bottle up, but this one flies over his head and lands on the grass without breaking. In a fit of rage, I pick the bottle up and slam it down against the edge of his golden hockey stick. My eyes close as the glass shatters up at me, and the tiny pieces that pelt my skin barely give me a scratch.

It’d be so easy.

My hands shake with the neck of the bottle and the long shard coming from it.

One cut and it’ll all be over.

I can’t do it.

Who will be next if I’m gone?

“Toughen up,” I grit out between my teeth to no one.

I drop the glass and compose myself for the ride home. Hitting my fist against my heart with a loud scream as I drive up the winding streets and get ready for the onslaught I wanted until I get to our perfect family home.

Dad stands from his convertible, fixing his tie, just as I get to the apron of our driveway. His gold ring shines as he runs a hand through his slicked back dark chocolate brown hair. The same shade as mine.

My engine revs as I stare him down. The man that made me and broke me within twenty years. The man that broke her. I don’t know how, but I know he did it.

He closes the door and faces me. His legs spread with his arms crossed over his chest, daring me to do it.

One shift of the gear and my truck would demolish him. The stench of alcohol on me would rule it as a DWI and a tragic accident. I wouldn't get in too much trouble, not enough to put me away for long. Maybe a few days in a cell, and a suspended license with a fine that will be easily paid. Who would press charges? The town? I’m not sure if they love me or him more.

Another rev of my engine is cut off by the side door of our home swinging open. Mom steps out onto the driveway in a muted gray dress she wore to wherever they came from and waves out at me with a wide smile. It’s not genuine, but she’s gotten good at hiding her true feelings over the many years of silent torture.

She’s still here, bearing the nightmare with me.

Dad laughs and shakes his head condescendingly. He knows I won’t do it.

Stop being such a baby.

I wait for him to go inside before getting out of the car to calm the shakes and adrenaline coursing through me.

“Why are you here?” Mom greets me outside the door.

“I have to get something from my room.” I look out across the vast yard in the empty cul-de-sac without any neighbors close enough to hear or see anything.

“I can smell the alcohol on you. You shouldn’t be driving.” Mom rubs my arms to grab my attention. “Go straight to your room. Clean up and I’ll heat a plate of leftovers to help you sober up when you’re ready.” She clutches my biceps and begs for me to listen. “Please, Carter. Don’t let him see you like this.” I nod to agree, forgoing my original plan. “You’re a good man, Carter.”

She says it every chance she gets. Telling me I’m a good man as if it’ll come true the more times it’s said.

I meet her halfway when she rises on her toes to kiss my cheek and follow her inside, but I’m caught, no matter if I wanted to be or not.

“I fucking knew it.” Dad takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over the stairway railing where he stood, waiting for me. “I could see those bloodshot eyes from up the driveway.” They’re not bloodshot from drinking. “Who sold it to you?”

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