The Rule Breaker

"For a while, that was enough. It was hard, but it felt good. Taking care of Mom and Daisy. Making sure they were okay. I didn't think about how I was obscuring the truth. I was just—"

"You stepped up, Oliver. You don't need to feel guilty for that."

"Maybe." My head is a mess. This shit is too tangled. There are years of it. "I did my best. I just… I'm like my dad. My best isn't good enough."

Her lips curl into a frown.

"That was when I really got obsessed with art. It was the only time I had space for myself. You know?"

"Yeah." She nods. "Other times… what everyone else needs is in the way."

"Exactly. It was like an affair."

"Have you had an affair?"

"I'm sure I've been with married women. No. It's not the odds. I remember a few. Hell, I remember this one woman… she was older. She was at a bar. Upset about something her husband did. She straight up told me. 'I'm married and I need one night to get back at my husband. Will you help me?'"

"And you did?"

"Yeah. She was gorgeous. And she had this sense about her… like you, actually."

"I'm like a married woman looking for a revenge fuck?"

"She knew what she wanted. But she was more shy about it. Like she wasn't used to anyone giving a fuck about her desires. I was already loaded when she asked. But then… I was always a little fuzzy. I've been drinking morning to night for a long time."

"Bourbon in your coffee?" she asks.

"That obvious?"

She shakes her head. "I only caught you doing it a few times. I always figured… it was the weekend or vacation or whatever. A special occasion. But part of me wondered."

"Now you know." I tap my chest. "Oliver Flynn. Dirty pervert, stubborn artist, alcoholic fuckup."

Her brow furrows. "Ollie…"

"Wait until I've told you to argue."

"Told me?"

"What happened… that got me into this stupid fucking program."

"It's helping, isn't it?" she asks.

"Yeah. But… fuck, if I have to drink one more shitty cup of drip." I shake my head. "I hate that place."

"Where you go for your classes?"

"It's antiseptic. Like a hospital wing. Like some place people go to die. The air is too still. The walls are too bare. Everything is this ugly shade of beige. No color. No life. No brightness."

"There must be other places," she says.

"Yeah. I just… I don't know. It's still hard. Sitting here. Trying to talk about this. Trying to face it. I still want a fucking drink. Something sweet and rich and strong enough to dull the ache."

Concern fills her eyes.

"I haven't, but… Dad thinks I'm trying to white-knuckle it. Maybe I was. But you… you've got me all fucked up."

"Is that a compliment?"

"I meant what I said the other night, Luna. You're this beautiful splash of color in an ocean of grey. You're so bright and alive and you don't look at me like I'm a fuckup or a lost cause or a ticking clock. Daisy and Dad… I know they love me. I know they want the best. But the way they look at me—"

"Yeah." She nods. "She does mean well. She just worries. But…"

"Yeah."

"I've done that too." She reaches out. Places her hand on my wrist. "I'm sorry."

I shake my head. "Don't be. You were right. You are right. I am an alcoholic fuckup. I just… I'm trying. But it's really fucking hard."

"It must be."

"Fuck, I lost track of my story."

Her smile is soft. "You were in high school, right? When things got really bad with your mom?"

I nod. "Yeah. It took a year, maybe, for Dad to really catch on. To really see it. Then there was another year of fighting. And trying. Or pretending to try. Ultimatums. Lies. Secrets." My throat tightens. "You were around. You saw some of it."

"They tried not to fight in front of me." She takes a long sip of her coffee. Stares at the empty mug for a moment. Then reaches for the French press. Refills both our cups.

"They tried not to fight in front of me and Daisy too. But that was almost worse. It was obvious something was there. But they pretended like it wasn't. And I… fuck, I didn't know how to handle the tension."

"But you were still drawing?"

"Yeah. It kept me sane. And when I started hanging out with Holden—"

"And his older brother was already a working tattoo artist?"

I nod exactly. "It became an obsession pretty fast. And it was an escape too. I'd go to their house after school. Avoid the fucking war zone."

"I always wondered how you two became friends. He acts like he doesn't care about anything. Like everything is light and easy. And you're… the same, but the opposite. You sit on the sidelines, like you can't be bothered to deal with anyone. But it seems like everything is so… heavy, I guess."