“Fuck you, Fen. And don’t change the topic.”
Passing the bag to my other hand, I press the button for the elevator. “What topic was that?”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He shoves me aside when the elevator arrives and steps inside first. “The deal that fell through the other night, are you dense? I needed that fucking money.”
My jaw is clenched so tightly my teeth grind together. “What for?”
“What do you need money for, dickhead?” He punches me in the shoulder, and the force of it sends me into the mirrored wall, my bad knee twinging. “To buy stuff. What did you think?”
“Cool it, Seb.” He’s high, I tell myself, holding my own fists back with difficulty. Don’t punch his motherfucking lights out yet. “You got money, dude. You got paid two weeks ago for that deal you helped with. What did you do with that, spend it all on drugs already?”
“None of your business. That wasn’t enough dough.”
“What the hell do you need it for?”
“You’re such a fucking idiot,” he mutters as the doors open, and walks out. “Girls, bro. Cars. Good clothes, not these…” He tugs at the lapels of his leather jacket with a sneer. “These cheap pieces of shit. This hellhole of a place. The junk I’m driving.”
“How about a job instead, huh? A real life? You ever thought about that?”
“Shut the fuck up. Just… shut it.” He stands uneasily, nervously, shoulders hunched as I unlock the apartment door. He shoves a hand through his greasy hair. “Open the goddamn door.”
I give him a long look, my hand on the door. He’s sweating. He’s not high, I realize. He’s actually coming down from a damn high, and he looks kinda green around the gills.
Fucking joy.
Pushing the door open, I switch on the lights and throw the keys in the bowl on the kitchen counter. “Make yourself at home. Just don’t puke on the couch, okay?”
“Whatever,” he mutters, but doesn’t sit down, parking his skinny ass against the back of the couch instead.
“I’ll make you something to eat.” I know the routine. Something light to line his stomach. “Meanwhile, here, drink some water.”
“You drink your fucking water. You’re not my mom. Gimme something stronger.”
“No can do.” I turn the tap and fill up a glass. “And your mom would hate to see you like this. Drink this, otherwise you’ll—”
He retches, and I turn just in time to see him throw up green puke all over the back of the couch and the carpet.
Shit. I rub at my face and put the glass down on the counter. “Christ, man. What did you take this time? Please tell me you’re not doing meth.”
“None of your fucking business,” he grunts, braced on the stained back of the couch, hair falling in his face. “And I don’t need your fucking water, or your fucking food. What I need is money.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” I let my hand drop and glare at him. “Go clean yourself up in the bathroom, and I’ll clean up your puke. If you don’t want food, then don’t eat.”
“Fuck, man, I can’t sleep. Haven’t slept in two days.” He pushes off the couch, starts toward me, his steps unsteady, his gaze pleading. “I’ll just borrow the money, okay? Give it right back when I get paid.”
“No, dude. Sit down. I’ll make you something to eat—”
He pushes at me, and I stumble backward, fucking amazed that he managed to catch me off guard twice in one evening.
Goes to show how off my game I am these days, I think, and then my shoulder hits the wall, and I slam my palms on it to steady myself. My fucking bad knee twists, and I grunt in pain.
“Fuck you, Seb.”
“You say you look out for me,” he snarls, shaking his fist at me. “You think you can feed me food and lies and that I’ll suck it the fuck up and say thank you.” He stumbles two steps back and then turns toward the door. “I don’t need this shit, asshole. I don’t need you, okay? You can go to hell for all I care. Stay off my fucking back.”
Jesus Christ. I watch him go, still stunned. Does he think I don’t want to?
If only I could.