Page 58 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

He picks one up from behind the speakers and hands it to me. The

clear liquor is fresh with ice that hasn’t melted yet. “Here, I think it’s

this one.”

I bring the drink to my lips while I meet Leah’s eyes again, enjoying

the sight of her simple, kind grin. Taking a sip of the water, my throat

clenches, and I throw the glass beside the stage, watching it shatter

and spill all over the floor. One of the waitresses is quick to clear the

area, holding a broom and mop while everyone goes back to their

good time of waiting for the show to play on.

Meanwhile, I feel my body convulsing.

“One minute, please,” I say to the guys, setting my guitar down while

I rush past the bar and into the back room. Little clicks of heels

follow me, and Leah is behind me in my room when I get to the sink

and stick my finger down my throat. “Ah, fuck!”

“Hey, hey,” she says quickly. “What are you doing, Percy? Stop that.”

She tears my hand away from my mouth, only to widen her eyes

when she sees I’m trembling from head to toe. I can’t find the words

to explain it, to spill the case on something so secretive and

shameful, but it blurts out of my lips like an open valve under

pressure.

“I’m an alcoholic. Well, I was,” I grunt. “I’m three weeks sober, but…

I don’t know, maybe not. I thought it was water. Leah, I really did. I

don’t want to—this isn’t who I am, I just…”

“Shh,” she breathes, speaking calmly like a wildlife observer coming

across a disoriented animal. “It’s okay, Percy, just relax. You’re

okay.”

“I just—I just broke sobriety, and I’m only three weeks in! Dammit,

I’m such a fucking failure. I can never do anything right. I can’t even

fucking drink right, and now I’ve just ruined my streak again. I can’t

believe I’ve done this. I’m such a damn punk.”

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