Page 415 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

I turn to find another shot of Bailey’s on my dresser. I stare at it, incredulous, and set my tea down beside it. Then I carefully pick it up so I don’t spill.

I’m in half a mind to go to his room and throw it in his smirking face. But that would mean enteringhisterritory, and I don’t need a flashback of the day I caught him masturbating to porn on his computer. That moment has already served as the seed forseveralerotic dreams about him. I empty the tot glass into my bathroom sink.

God, Jude loves making me waste alcohol. What is his problem, anyway? Maybe Wayne is a closet alcoholic or something. Maybe he beats Jude when he’s had one too many.It’s got to be something like that, else why would make such a huge fucking deal out of this?

I sip my tea while I study from my science textbook. I only have a few days until Friday’s test—and I have to ace it. Not just so I’ll pass the grade, but so I can prove to myself that I’m not a fucking loser.

Mom’s expression the other day, her shock when I told her I wanted to go to college...what does that say about me? I wasn’t ready to face that shit earlier, but now that I’m not buzzed every waking minute of my day, it’s easier to reconcile.

I’m not stupid. With some studying, I know I can get my grades up. Wayne has the money to send me to college, I just have to prove that I belong there.

How hard could it be?

I finish my tea and go to put it on the dresser. The shot glass is still there, and it still makes the air smell of Bailey’s.So I take it to the bathroom and rinse it out, then toss it in the trash. I think it breaks when it hits the bottom of the trash can, and that makes me smile.

Take that,Bro.

I’m damned proud that I say no when Wayne offers me a glass of wine with dinner. My stepfather frowns at me as if he’s wondering why I’m avoiding alcohol, but my mom chimes in with a comment about the movie they saw with Rosie and steers the conversation away.

It sounds like they had a great time. Now I’m regretting not going with them. I wasn’t sure if I was up to it at the time, not with how shitty I’ve been feeling the past few days, and I didn’t want to take a chance I’d have to run out to go pukeor something.I obviously missed out. Rosie chatters about the movie non-stop through the rest of dinner, and I see even Jude is casting her sullen looks as he devours his meatloaf.

When I’m done eating I excuse myself for the night, not a drop of wine having passed my lips, which is probably why Jude looks so pissed off when I leave.But as soon as I step into my room and see a fresh shot of Bailey’s on my dresser, the bottle beside it, I’m just as pissed off.

I throw myself on my bed and take out my phone. I’d been putting this off, trying to figure out a way around Jude’s threats...but now I’m determined enough that it doesn’t matter what Eliza says. I just want this to end.

She answers on the third ring. “Harper!”

“Hey.” My voice doesn’t come close to matching her enthusiasm. “I’m glad I got hold of you, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“Is this about the festival?” It sounds like she’s grinning ear to ear.

I force a swallow. “Yeah, uh…”I push out a silent sigh and squeeze my lids with my fingers.

“What’s wrong?” Eliza says. Gone is the cheery note in her voice. She’s cautious now, as if she feels something bad headed her way.

I only realize my eyes are fixed on the bottle of Bailey’s when they start stinging. I blink, get to my feet, and walk over to the dresser. It’s like I’m in a trance, one I don’t know how to snap out of.

Did Jude know how difficult this call would be? Did he anticipate how I’d flounder, how I’d wish to have some fucking Dutch courage to see me through?

He must have. Because that’s exactly what’s happening. I’m terrified of what’ll happen if I slip up and Jude finds out, but what about the repercussions of not letting Eliza join thecommittee? Marissa says she’s someone you don’t mess with, and how bad am I messing with her right now?

“I’m going to call you back,” I tell her, and put the phone down without waiting for her reply.

It’s insane how badly I want to drink this shot. How badly I crave the alcohol’s mind-numbing effect. If I think about it—not that I really want to—I’ve been looking for comfort, forhopein the bottom of a bottle for a while. Maybe there’s no way I’ll ever be able to cope without it again.All I know is that I’ll never have the courage to do what I need to do right now. Not without a few measures of Bailey’s down my throat first.

That’s what I tell myself when I down the shot. The slightly thick, slightly warm liquid pours into my mouth, sharp and sweet and creamy, but I barely let myself taste it before I swallow.

It’s not enough, of course. So I pour myself another. But there’s something wrong with the consistency. It’s too runny, not the right color. And when it hits the tiny bit of Bailey’s left in the shot glass, it’s obvious how different the two liquids are.I dip my finger into the creamy substance and lick it off.Milk and, possibly, vanilla essence.

Whythe fuckwould he do this?

Eliza calls me back, but I ignore my phone. I feel like I just broke into Fort Knox to find out they’d replaced all the gold bars with carved soap.

I strangle the bottle by its neck as I rush into the bathroom. I nearly throw it into the shower to shatter it but manage to hold back at the last second. Instead, I empty everything down the drain, rinse it out, and stash the empty bottle right at the back of the vanity. When I straighten, it’s like my body’s connected to a live wire. I’m thrumming with a hatred so deep it’s staining my soul tar-black.

Gotta burn it off. Gotta do something,anything, to get my mind off this. Eliza calls again—I switch off my phone and toss it on the bed, start pacing my room.

Then I grab my swimsuit out of the closet, a robe, and comfy clothes for after. A few laps in the manor’s heated pool should clear my mind.

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