Page 15 of The Fix

Of course it is.

“I still hate you.”

Chapter Seven

Toby

“He’s still passed out—”

I’m not.

I haven’t been for some time. I think I did for a moment, but the voices surrounding me don’t give a shit about anyone sleeping in the vicinity.

Rude bastards.

“—c’mon, Leo. There’s another way. Someone else. I can’t even walk away from him to pack his bag.”

“No, Anna. There isn’t.”

From my position—which happens to be face down on the couch, though I’m not sure whose furniture I’m crashed out on—I can hear every word uttered about me and my condition. My issues. My problems. My anger—which I keep contained, thank you very much—and, for some reason, my inability to be in the public.

All thanks to Ms. Straitlaced Prune and her perfectly plain skirt, with her slicked back hair in that same damn tight-ass bun she always has holding her damn forehead back.

Does she ever let the shit down?

The woman has no problem calling shit out and making even Leo pause on occasion.

But for some reason, he’s more adamant. Steadfast. Unbudging.

I think.

I’d probably know more if my thoughts weren’t fuzzy and my face wasn’t numb.

Not even sure why we’re here and why they keep talking about going somewhere.

Certain that if I squinted hard enough, I might be able to recall why Anna is railing the shit out of Leo, but I’d rather enjoy the buzz that started in the car with a blunt and continued through the bottle of amber I’m still holding onto.

Where are the guys? It’s drinking time.

We could make a game outta the number of times Rex says ‘fuck’.

I try to push myself up, but I don’t get far because the couch spins beneath me, and I flop face-first into the cushion. Something thuds along the floor beside me, but I pay it no mind.

Damn, that’s good shit.

“And how am I supposed to manage that?”

The words pierce my brain and make my tongue feel funny with a retort I don’t even try holding back. “I got somethin’ you can manage.” My words sound muffled and far away to my ringing ears.

“Ew,” Anna shoots back.

Goal accomplished.

Chuckling, I wedge an arm beneath my ribs and maneuver my upper body until the light penetrates my pupils and drives a nail into the sockets, killing off the levity almost instantly, along with some of my buzz. “Shit, why is it so fucking bright?”

“Leo, I cannot. Will not. Find someone else.”

I get my arm out from under me and throw it over my eyes. “Am I not pretty enough for you, Ms. Prune?”

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