Mess To Be Made

19

I never liked feeling.

Feeling happy. Feeling sad. Feeling angry. Feeling excited.

I never liked that.

I liked being.

I could be happy. I could be sad. Be angry. Excited. Confident. Playful. Flirty. Sarcastic.

I had control over how I was being.

Feelings, though. Those could be lethal.

"Want a hit?"

Brian's voice brought me back. I blinked once, hard, to regain focus before turning to look at him. Then the pen he was holding in his hand.

I shook my head but smiled. I knew my brain was already too fucked up to handle it. Plus, last time I hit his pen I slept with Blake. So maybe it was best to hold off tonight.

It was New Year's Eve. Sean decided to throw a party in his basement, in part due to my consistent whining and pleas. Landon always had a New Year's party, but that was the last place I wanted to be.

Surprisingly, there were a lot of people at Sean's. It wasn't crazy, but it was more crowded than a usual Sean Connolly basement party.

New Year's Eve was always one of my favorite holidays. Not just because it centered around socializing, partying, and alcohol—which were just a few of my favorite things—but because of how on that last December day, there was something different in the air. The way people talked, laughed, thought. The cold winter air held hope. Excitement. Opportunity. Empowerment.

Tonight, though, I didn't get that. I didn't get excited, or opportunistic, or empowered. The cold air didn't seem to hold hope for me this year. It was just, quite simply, cold.

I took a sip out of the red solo cup in my hand. My fourth vodka soda. Sean had Steven get me Grey Goose for tonight. I didn't ask for it. I would've drank anything. But I could tell Sean's sensed something had been up with me. He was going the extra mile in hopes to make me happy.

Feel happy.

Be happy.

I took another sip. The burn in my throat disappeared too quickly. I wanted more burn. I wanted the numbness.

I'd managed to avoid my mother all week. The few times I did run into her—in the kitchen while she was making breakfast or in the hallway while I was walking from my room to the bathroom—I was able to force a smile and a few sentences of small talk.

I couldn't look her in the eye. Just the thought alone made my stomach turn. She didn't seem concerned by my aloofness. At least she didn't show it. She probably thought I was going through a phase.

The guilt was the worst part. If there was a worst part. It was all horrible. It all felt horrible. I felt horrible all the time.

But the thought that my dad didn't know.

He couldn't know. How could he. He was never around.

Maybe that's why...

No. That's no excuse.

She has children. She has me.

I almost laughed out loud. Me. Clearly she didn't give a shit about me. She didn't give a shit about anyone but herself. If she did, she wouldn't be tearing our family apart.

With him...on our couch. The couch my parents bought together. The couch my brother and I had just spent Christmas Day sitting on while opening presents. Playing board games. Laughing.