Page 215 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

He laughs. “Yeah, and then he’ll tell me to fuck off.”

“And? Then you fuck off. Just make sure you got some money, and you’re good to go.”

“Yeah, money. You forget, my dad’s a stingy fucking bastard.”

I let out a massive sigh. “Jesus, then you save up. You get a fucking job. Or you could stay there and eat up his shit for the rest of your life.” I wave a hand. “Your fucking choice.”

“So I get enough money to make a move. Where would I go?” Marcus asks, but his voice softens as if he’s actually really considering this shit. I’m fucking glad—it’s only taken what, ten years to get my point across? I get that despite how flush his dad is, Marcus hardly has any walking around money on him. But if I were him, I’d have gotten a job a long time ago.

Where would he go?

“Here.” I sweep a hand out behind me and take a drag of the smoke. “I got a couch in the living room that’s got your name written all over it.”

Marcus laughs again, trading rum for the cigarette. “Sure your dad will just love that,” he mutters.

“He probably wouldn’t even notice. I bet you could stay here for months, and he’d just think it was pure fucking coincidence that you’re here every time he bothers to swing by and pick up fresh clothes.”

“He still working so much?”

I press my lips closed. I don’t whine about my personal life, because what kid my age wouldn’t kill to be where I am? I’m one weekday-visit away from being an orphan. “I get the whole house to myself.”

“He working on a new project or something?”

I shrug. “Probably. If I see him again this year, I’ll let you know.”

Marcus shakes his head as he laughs, and we trade again. “Might as well finish it, bro,” he says.

There’s about three fingers left, but I shrug and down it anyway. Not as if I’m driving home, and no girls around for me to assault.

My mood turns dark in an instant. I stand, aim, and throw the bottle as far as I can. Marcus lets out a cackle when it hits the side of a hedge. “So close.”

I slump back in my seat. “Give me a smoke,” I say.

Marcus must have heard the tone of my voice, because he doesn’t pass back the cigarette we’ve been sharing—he lights me a new one.

Kind of hate alcohol. The early stages are fine. But now, when I’ve just about reached my threshold, there are only two paths for me to follow.

Aggression or depression.

Guess Marcus and I have that in common. Except his highs and lows come regardless of how much rum he has pumping through his veins.

“Hey, so Zak’s throwing a party after the game this weekend.”

“Yeah?”

“Black-tie again.”

“Swishy fuck.”

Marcus laughs. “You gonna come?”

“What, alone?” I glance across at him. “Or are you offering to be my plus one? Forget it.”

“You’d be lucky to have me, you fucking prick.”

I wave away the comment. As if I could go to a fucking party like some normal kid. All those girls around, all that booze around. Even if I swore not to touch a fucking drop of liquor, not get close to a line of coke…I was perfectly fucking sober when I found Indi in the woods.

I can’t risk that shit.

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