Page 21 of Resist

“Fox,” he whines behind me. Setting the framed photo down, I hurry back to his side. “I feel sick.”

I roll him to his side and help him sit up, noticing his face is pale. “Why did you drink so much?” I ask.

He’s quiet, but his eyes open and he stares at me. “Do you think he’s better looking than me?”

“Who?” I ask, confused as I find a bottle of water on his side table and open it.

“That guy from tonight,” he mutters, seeming less drunk now. I find some pain pills and place them on the table as I turn back to him.

I ignore his question. I’m not playing this game with him. It isn’t fair. The one night I go out and have fun, I’m made to drag his drunk ass home.

“Drink,” I tell him, and he turns his face away. “Ryker. Drink,” I demand.

“No. Tell me,” he counters.

Gripping his chin, I turn his face back to mine. His eyes widen as I pour the water into my mouth and force his open, then I spit it into his and cover his lips with my hand. “Swallow,” I demand.

I feel his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, then I nod and release him, capping the water before I grab one of the pills and press it to his lips. He rolls them inwards, and I lose patience. Gritting it between my teeth, I force his mouth open, and he gently bites it from mine and swallows. This time, I pour the water into his mouth, and he swallows it.

“Fox—”

“Don’t,” I mutter.

He stares at me as I tidy his nightstand. “I’m sorry.” His voice is slurred, but it makes me look at him. “I am.”

“You’re always sorry, but then you always do it again,” I mutter.

“I know.” He catches my hand, and I look at him, seeing something vulnerable in his gaze as he swallows hard. “I love you.”

“Okay, time to sleep.” My voice is thick with agony. I wish he could say those words and mean them, but he won’t remember tomorrow, and it isn’t fucking fair. They are the three words I ache to hear more than anything, and to him, they are just a drunken memory he would rather forget.

How many times has he told me he loves me when he’s drunk?

“No, say it back,” he demands.

“Ryker, you are being a brat?—”

“Good! At least you’re looking at me!” he snaps, shoving me away with loose limbs.

“What do you mean?” I frown as I sit him up, but he’s swaying.

“You don’t look at me anymore. You barely even acknowledge me. It’s like I don’t exist to you, and I hate it. I fucking hate it!” Tears form in his eyes. “I hate that you spent all night with him. I wanted us to have fun like old times. Why can’t we?”

“We just can’t,” I reply.

“But why?” he demands. “Why do you hate me so much?”

“I wish I hated you!” I snap as I shake him. “We are too far gone, Ryker. Everything is too messed up between us, and you pulling this shit doesn’t help. If you want to be in my life, then good, fine—be a better friend, a better bandmate—but not like this.”

“You won’t ignore me anymore?” he whispers as tears leak down his face, and despite me knowing better, I brush them away. He’s always been a sloppy drunk.

“I could never ignore you, even if I wanted to. I’m aware of every single thing you do, and it hurts,” I admit. “Now get some sleep. If you want, we can talk again in the morning.”

“Okay.” He sniffles and settles down. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Sure.” I nod even though I know we won’t.

He’s a liar. He’ll be back to running in the morning and acting like nothing happened.

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