bottle of Scotch held to my lips. I stumble to a stop just short of the door and frown, wiping at my mouth. “I haven’t got a room. Some fucker blew it up.” I turn toward Brad. “Who blew up my room?” I raise the bottle as he goes to speak. “Never mind. I’ll find out who, and I’ll shove my gun up their arse and rape them with it before I fire.” Brad flinches but keeps quiet. “I’ll be wherever I make it before I collapse.” I reach for the doorknob, missing it, having to close one eye to focus. I hear Brad chuckling from behind me. “Shut the fuck u—” My demand is cut short when the door flies open and smacks me in the face, sending me stumbling back in a daze. I land on my back with a thud, the impact winding me, as well as sending my Scotch flying. “Shit,” I curse, shuffling onto my side and grappling for the bottle rolling away from me.
“What’s going on?”
The sweet, familiar voice has my hand pausing in its search and my body rolling to my back again. I blink as I look up, the swaying vision of two bodies making my head spin. “Rose?” I ask, my hands coming up to my head and cupping each side, trying to stable my vision.
“He’s fucked.” Brad’s voice comes from behind, but I don’t take my eyes off the blurry vision of her.
“I buried my dad,” I mumble. “I have every right to be fucked. So fuck you. Fuck you all. Fuck everyone.” I lift my head with way too much effort, pointing a limp hand at Rose. “And especially fuck you.” The strength needed to keep my head up is too much, and it pisses me right off that I have to drop it back to the carpet. My brain rattles when my skull collides with the floor. “Fuck.” I cough, clumsily reaching up to rub my head. I’m fucking plastered. I don’t think I’ve ever been so drunk. Being inebriated is being vulnerable, but I’m not so steaming to know that I’ve been vulnerable for a while now. “And it’s your fault,” I spit, feeling some hands under my armpits. “Leave me here.”
“How much has he had?” Rose’s voice is concerned. Fucking joke.
“Not enough.” I’m not unconscious yet. I roll, shrugging off their hands, and scan the floor for my bottle. “Where have you hidden it?” I ask accusingly.
“For fuck’s sake,” Brad mutters.
I’m suddenly on two feet, though far from stable. I feel weightless, and it’s only when Rose yells and something collides with my shoulder that I realize I’m falling. “Fuck.” I land on the floor again with a thud. The curses coming at me tells my drunken head that Brad and Rose aren’t much appreciating my state, but I couldn’t give a flying fuck. I’m feeling great. The sense of freedom, the relief from being so sloshed quite liberating.
“You’re not very attractive when you’re drunk,” Rose mutters, dropping to her knees next to me.
The cheek. “Well . . .” I point a finger at her, trying to focus on the tip as it circles the air all by itself. On a sigh, she takes it and holds it steady for me.
“Well, what?” she asks.
“Well.” I draw a blank, rummaging through my head for what I was going to say. “Oh yeah.” I sniff, forcing my face into scowling. Or something close. “Well, I don’t like you slicing your arms open. A-a-and I don’t like it that it doesn’t hurt you, because it fucking hurts me.” I yank the sleeve of my shirt up clumsily and rip the bandage off, as if to show her my agony. “I did this because of you.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Brad dips to get his face up close, and probably a bit clearer for me too. His eyebrows are high. Accusing. “Time for bed.”
“Fuck you. I don’t have a bed.” I throw my arm out and catch Rose on the arm. “Put me in her room.” Brad looks to Rose, and it riles me. “Why you looking at her for? I fucking tol . . . old you, put me in her room. In her bed.” I start to scramble up, swatting their hands away when they both move in to help me. “It’s my fucking house. My fucking bed. My fucking life.” I stagger to the door, smacking my arm on the frame. “And she”—I whirl around too fast, dizziness sending