Page 73 of Among the Sins of my Father

He struggles to open the window to the outside while still holding my hand and the bottle of vodka, but he manages somehow. Music pulses from below. There are glasses and bottles scattered around the pool. The lights are all on, as though the party is still in full swing, but the place is deserted.

“Where did everyone go?” I ask as he pulls me tight to his chest and starts swaying, the hard glass of the vodka bottle digging into my back.

“Dad sent them home. I think your Priest’s little stunt pissed him off.”

Michael’s swaying movements pull us closer to the edge of the roof. I try to guide his steps away, but he’s stubborn and strong. My heart beats wildly as his feet hover dangerously close to the edge. A wicked thought of pushing him off streaks across my mind, but I know he’d take me with him.

I don’t know whether it’s the drink or the drugs or merely the excitement of the night, but his body is sweaty and hot. The warmth of it soaks into my skin. His hair is damp, sticking up in odd directions from the swipes of his hand. He keeps running his tongue over his teeth and swallowing heavily as though his mouth is dry.

“We should jump,” he says, dropping his grip on me and looking over the edge at the pool below.

“Don’t be silly.” I take his hand and tug him back.

He doesn’t move, merely stares at our joined hands. His gaze lingers on them, almost sadly, and then moves up my body, eyes skipping over the details of my costume.

“I only wanted to make you happy. That’s what all this was for.” He waves his hand still holding the bottle of vodka out over the scenery as though it’s still littered with people from the party. Lifting the bottle, he downs the remains then throws it over the edge, the glass shattering below. “Why won’t you do the same for me, Ev? Why won’t you try to make me happy?”

He tugs on my hand. “Come on, where’s that carefree, bold girl I used to know? Let’s jump.”

“Michael, no.” I push against him as he pulls me toward the edge.

“Come on, it will be fun.”

“Michael, you’re drunk.” A wave of panic washes over me as he keeps tugging, keeps pulling. “Oh, come on, Ev. You’ve done it before. Why not do it again.”

I fight against his grasp, knowing how dangerous it would be for him to drag us both over. He’s in no state to coordinate his movements.

“Michael, please,” I beg. “You’re scaring me.”

“You? Scared? Everly fucking Atterton scared?” He laughs and then looks at his free hand as though surprised to find it empty. “Where did the vodka go?”

“You drank it all.” His nails are digging into the skin of my hand. “Michael, you’ll ruin my dress if you pull us over.”

He rolls his eyes. “What do you care? You didn’t pay for it. You don’t care about any of this. About us. About anything.”

“Michael, please!” I plead again.

He laughs, a cold smirk covering his face. “I kind of like it when you beg. Maybe eager is overrated.”

After wrestling a little more, I’m able to rip my hand from his grasp. But Michael comes after me, lunging toward me and not caring when he slips and has to grab onto the roof for support. He laughs again. I run toward the open window, but despite his drunkenness, Michael is still quick enough to grab my ankle, and my feet slide out from under me.

“Okay, okay,” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. “We’ll jump, okay? I’ll jump with you.”

Michael grins as though he’s won the lottery and holds his hand out. But instead of taking it, I get to my feet, dash past him and leap, arms and legs flailing as I fly.

The water is colder than I expected, and I rise to the surface, gasping for air. Michael is laughing above, still trapped on the roof.

“There’s my girl!” he yells into the night. “There’s the girl who’s spontaneous and reckless.”

I power through the water, fighting the awkwardness of the tutu wrapping itself around my legs, and pull myself out. Some of the glass from the shattered vodka bottle rests on the edge of the pool and I cut my hand, leaving behind a smeared splatter of blood.

Michael is still laughing and hollering as I start to run.

“Hey!” he calls out. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? You know there’s no point in running! You’re mine, Everly Atterton. You’re fucking mine!”

There’s a splash of water behind me as I keep racing. I ignore the pounding of my heart, and the sharpness of the stones beneath my ballet slippers as I sprint as fast as I can. I reach a patch of grass. I can hear Michael behind me. He calls out, excited by the chase.

“I’ve always been faster than you, Everly. You won’t be able to escape me!”

---