Page 80 of Bold

Brazen

CRASH!

Liquor rots at the bottom of my stomach.

Shards of glass explode around the room.

Outrage bubbles inside me.

I stagger, and my hands hit the floor.

Has it been two or three days since I identified the lifeless body of my best friend?

Blood colors the scattered pieces of the broken bottle on the floor.

The whiskey makes everything a blur.

I can’t feel anything but the fury in the form of alcohol and pain running through my veins. The good memories of Sunday feel so far away, buried under twisted, ugly hostility. I’ve shut everything out.

My mom.

Noah.

Anything good.

Right now, as I crawl on my hands and knees on my bedroom floor, I wonder if I’ll ever remember happiness again. It seems unlikely as my stomach rolls, and the smell of copper grows stronger beneath me.

“Brazen!” Noah shrieks my name as she enters my room.

I just give up. My heavy body hits the floor, and my nose collides with the hard surface beneath me.

“Get out.” Despite how hard I force out the words, they come out jumbled and slurred. I don’t want anyone near me, not even Noah, especially not her. I want to be left alone in my drunken grief.

Don’t touch me.

Don’t speak to me.

Please, don’t comfort me.

Just go away.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Her hands assess me, checking on the damage I’ve done, and I recoil away from the careful affection.

“You’re bleeding. I need to get you cleaned up.”

“Noah!” I push out her name, and it still sounds like one mangled syllable. “I don’t want you here. I don’t want your help. Leave me the fuck alone.” My hand slams against the floor, and I finally feel something.

An intense sting of agony hits me as glass lodges deeper into my skin.

She ignores me, which fans my irritation.

My knees buckle as I attempt to rise and run from her touch, and a grunt of frustration rips from my throat. Spit flies from my mouth and mixes with my blood on the floor. I want to lie here in my own misery, and Noah will only prevent that.

Sunday is gone.

She’s dead.

---