Chapter Six
Morgan was drunk. Shewas so drunk, she couldn't remember what day it was. Laying across her bed, head hanging off one end, she considered burying herself in the blankets and going back to sleep.
The door opened, and she squinted at the light from the hallway.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she heard.
“Hannah?” she asked, her eyes covered by her hand.
“Yeah, who the fuck else is going to dry your scrawny ass out?” Her cousin came into the room, heartlessly flipping on lights and pulling open the curtains.
“What thefuck, dude? I don't remember you being a sadist. Goddamn, turn off those fucking lights!”
“Such a ladylike mouth you have there, Shorty.” Ruthlessly, Hannah yanked Morgan upright and shoved a cup of coffee in her hands.
“Fuck off!” Without warning, she dropped the cup on the nightstand and raced for the bathroom, losing the contents of her stomach into the toilet.
Hannah merely moved in there with her, pulling her hair back into an elastic band and wetting a washcloth. She handed it over silently, letting Morgan scrub her face before helping her stand.
“God, my head is pounding like a john with his first whore,” she moaned, sitting down heavily on the closed toilet lid.
“What's the difference between a whore and a crack dealer?” Hannah asked.
Morgan opened one eye and rolled it at her.
Undeterred, Hannah went on. “A whore can wash her crack and use it again.”
Morgan laughed despite her headache, then moaned again when jackhammers went off in her brain.
Hannah handed her the forgotten coffee. “You need to sober up,” she stated, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Iamsober, thanks to you.” Morgan sipped the coffee and then groaned in satisfaction. “I was quite enjoying my binge, fuck you very much.”
Hannah grinned, then leaned down in her face. “Do you know what day it is, Shorty?”
“Um, Tuesday?” she guessed randomly.
Hannah smirked. “Nope. It's your birthday.”
Morgan’s eyes widened at that. “Motherfucker,” she drawled. “Are you sure?” Hannah raised an eyebrow. “Okay, you're sure.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “Shit. Well, good for me. I lived another year. What the fuck difference does it make?”
“The difference is, this year you live with me. That means I get to celebrate and you get to participate.” Hannah nudged Morgan with her foot. “Come on, Shorty, let’s get dressed.”
“Ugh, I don’t want to be a presentable human being today,” she grumbled.
“Suck it up, buttercup.”
Morgan got up, got dressed. Put on makeup. Downed some painkillers. The only person who had ever given a damn about her was Hannah, and she didn't even know why when she was such a burden.
As they arrived in the kitchen, they saw Owen with his head in the fridge while Harper and Ramona pulled on his pant leg.
Morgan reached out to rest a hand on her cousin’s arm. “I just need to tell you . . . I feel . . . um, you're more like a sister to me . . . than a cousin.”
“You know I feel the same, Shorty. Why else would I put up with your punk ass?”
Just then, the front door opened, and people came into the house. People Hannah clearly knew but Morgan did not. She seriously considered running out the back door and bolting down the street.
“Just so you know, I take it all back. I hate you. Loathe you, in fact.” She couldn't do this. There was no way.
