I smile with as much plastic as I can muster. “Like you could ever outrun what’s been chasing you.”
“At least Lev was brave enough to try.”
“He almost took you away from us.”
She shrugs, loosening her fists to smooth the front of her skirt. “It was the very least anyone could have done.”
Pissed and soaking up a weirdly satisfying afterglow, I stalk past her, marching out of the garden and away from the mansion. I can’t stand to look at her. I can’t handle being near her right now with what she just did to me.
But it’s nothing a joint can’t help me fix.
At least I fucking hope so.
***
The shouting I discover when I get home makes my head throb. While the booze has worn off, the weed lingers, spinning clouds inside my head that are enough to get rid of whatever the hell Alex did to me. She’s up to something, I think as I try to slide past my arguing parents. And she’s got us all in the middle of it.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” my father snorts. “You’re a fucking downright awful influence, Marie. Just look at our junkie son.”
My mother groans and waves a bottle of liquor. “Oh, this again, huh? Well, if you didn’t act all high and mighty all the time, we wouldn’t have to do shit to get some goddamn relief.”
Dad raises his clenched fists. “If you didn’t poison yourself every fucking day, maybe we would have a decent family. You want to end up dead in a ditch, don’t you? Well, that’s where the two of you are fucking going!”
“You’re a goddamn coward, Gilbert!”
“I’ll divorce you, you ungrateful cow!”
She laughs bitterly and swings the bottle, nearly knocking me in the head. “You can’t get rid of me unless you want all your dirty laundry aired out in court. Is that what you want? A circus show? How about it, kids?”
“Mom, you’re drunk,” I say to her while trying to grab the bottle. “Just go to bed.”
She snatches the bottle away from me. “Like you’re not?”
“At least I’m not saying things I don’t mean.”
“You fucking two-faced twat,” she spits while shoving my shoulder. I stumble into the banister, catching myself on it. “You look like shit. What’s that on your nose? Blood? Jesus Christ, Tomas.”
I swipe my nose, feeling the dried flakes catch on my hand. “You should stop talking while you’re ahead, Mom,” I warn. “It’s in your best interest.”
“Like you could ever determine what’s in my best interest.”
“Just shut the hell up, okay?”
Racing up the stairs takes extra energy, but I don’t mind dishing it out. I just need to get to my room, crawl into bed, and get to sleep. Everything will be better in the morning. It’ll be different.
It has to be different.
After trying to sleep for a handful of hours, I get out of bed and go to the bathroom to sober up. My quick-fix hangover cure—which is basically a special smoothie packed full of vitamins and protein—goes down as easy as all those drinks, making my head throb. Ibuprofen is next. Then water. Then a ton of carbs.
I feel like myself by the time I locate Adelaide in the den downstairs. “Hi, princess. Are you all right? Did you sleep okay?”
“Mommy and Daddy were fighting again.”
A sigh deflates me to the ground next to her. “I know, sweetie. I’m sorry.”
“I heard you yelling, too.”
“Hey, I’m sorry about that,” I whisper while tugging her into a hug. “I got upset. They make me mad.”