Playing His Own Games | ✔︎

chapter thirty-four | too far gone

WARNING: Suicidal actions/intentions
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"Depression is living in a body that fights to survive and a mind that tries to die."
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Mason

THERE ARE TIMES I QUESTION why and how I am friends with Chase Cowrie and Trent Northbridge. Today is one of those times.

Chase is running his mouth about he had the best fuck of his life with an ex girlfriend last week, while his current girlfriend was volunteering at an animal rescue shelter. Trent, on the other hand, is giving me unappreciative relationship advice such as, "Stop using condoms and you might actually be able to have a girlfriend for more than a week because of how fucking better it feels."

Granted, both are completely wasted and I'm utterly sober. Perhaps it's the lack of alcohol in my system that's making tonight less enjoyable, or maybe it's the pit in my stomach and the crushing anxiety of confronting my father.

"Dude, you need to relax," Chase slurs, shoving a bottle of Jack Daniels into my hand.

Currently, we're all accomodating Trent's mum's best leather couches. The crystal glass table set in between the lounges is full of open chip packets, rolled cigarettes, a shit ton of alcohol and mixers and a few packets of weed Chase managed to get his hands on.

I eye the bottle like poison, in full knowledge of the control it can have over me. "I'll pass, man."

"At least get a little high," Trent pleads, his eyes hazy and bloodshot.

I shake my head and throw my feet up on the table. "Are you two deaf? I told you I have something important to do after this and I don't want to be stoned or hammered."

"Since when have you been the responsible one?" Trent grumbles as he selects a bong in the midst of the chaos on the table.

"Yeah, man. Gonna offer us water soon?" Chase chortles like he's the funniest person in the world.

I roll my eyes. "Hah hah, you guys should become fucking comedians. Now can you sacks of shit please shut up and give me some peace."

Chase takes a drag of a cigarette and shrugs his broad shoulders. "Mm what do I get outa it?"

My knuckles itch to ram themselves into his face. Frustration and nerves boils the blood beneath my skin. "My fucking fist in your face, arsehole."

Truth to be told, all I want is to be swept up into the bliss and oblivion of a torrent of bronze liquid. Lose myself in a cloud of smoke and in the brim of a beer bottle.

But I will fight. Resist the temptation. For the only girl who has taught me that a flicker of light still remains in this world.

Carrie McDermott.

"Do ya'll think angels fly out of your arse when you sleep?" Trent butts in.

I throw a pillow at his face while Chase snorts with hysterical laughter. I can feel my lips curving upwards to form a smile just as my phone vibrates in my pocket.

"Ooh, who's your secret admirer?" Trent sniggers when I remove my phone from my jeans.

"Shut up, man," I try to sound angry but I can't stop myself from smirking. Rolling my eyes again, I answer the call. "Hello?"