Page 53 of Existential

TWENTY-FIVE

Hooch

“You stupid motherfucker.”

Make the noise stop. I grimace as something wet and ice-cold slaps me in the face.

“Come on, asshole.”

The damp cloth moves over my eyes and drags down over my dry and chapped lips. Acid swims in my stomach, and I feel as though I’ve climbed a mountain my limbs are so fatigued.

“He done this before?” a male voice asks.

“Not this bad,” one I recognize answers. What the hell is she doing here? “I’ll start cleaning up.”

The crash of glass on glass is a cacophony from hell on my precious senses. I wince again, and this time manage to emit a strange groan.

“That’s it, dumbass. Time to come around.”

I open my eyes, my gut winding up into a type of whirlpool as light hits my retinas. Oh, Jesus. I roll onto my side and Dog jams a trashcan under my chin just in time, catching the vile acid that erupts from my mouth.

“Did a right number on yourself, didn’t you?”

“You’re one to fuckin’ talk,” I manage to croak as my stomach still convulses.

Fuck me, the room stinks. I twist my head to find Mel sliding a tray of old food remnants into an empty shopping bag, doing her best to touch it as little as she can. No wonder.

I push the bin away, and slide my legs around. The room swims, and it takes a few long blinks to get my bearings, but I eventually spot what I’m after.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Dog dives across the room to snag the half-full bottle of Jack before I can.

“And you aren’t getting any more of this, either.” Mel bags the leftover crack I hustled for days to score.

I lose my shit.

“You get that the fuck outta there!”

She steps back, wide-eyed, as Dog steps in to protect her. Deal with what that implies later.

“No, Josiah.” Her voice wavers and tears fill her eyes. “You would do this for me.”

She’s right, I would. But she means something. I don’t. There’s the difference.

“Hand it over, Mel.”

“No.” Her chin dimples as she raises it in defiance. “I won’t see you kill off the only thing I have left.”

The fact she’s my sister is the only thing stopping me from throttling her until she drops the bag.

“Don’t you get it?” I roar, causing Dog to tense up. “What does it matter if I die?”

Shock turns her beautiful face ugly as she stares me down. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” God, I do. “I screw it up, Mel. That’s what I do. It’s what I’ve always done.”

“Mom leaving Dad wasn’t your fault.”

“No? Then what about Dana dying? Don’t tell me that I did the right thing there by standin’ around waiting like Dad told me to. I should have listened to this,” I holler, tapping a closed fist to my stomach. “I should have gone in there to get her.”

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