It was Nila who broke the tension. “Sit down, Kite.” Her voice was raindrop soft and just as watery. My eyes tore to hers.
I had so much to say and no time to speak.
“She calls you Kite now, huh?” Cut shoved her away. “That’s a disappointing development.”
My heart seized.
Kes’s hand pressed on my shoulder, forcing my knees to buckle and deliver me back to my seat.
Keep it together.
“Not an important development, I can assure you.” Swallowing my rage, I methodically scooped up the scattered cards. “I think the table needs another drink, Ms. Weaver.”
Cut relaxed a little; Daniel laughed.
Nila bit her lip, tears glossing before turning her back on all of us to collect the cognac.
I sighed, shuddering under the tangled thoughts coming from all three relations. Each emotion fucked me up inside until I couldn’t fathom my own conclusions.
It was easier to drink from the poisoned well than reject it. I would have to slip a little in order to win.
What Nila was about to go through would break her.
What I was about to go through would destroy me.
And no amount of pills could save us.
I just had to hope. Had to pray. Had to scheme.
Had to motherfucking implore that tonight I would win over Bryan ‘Vulture’ Hawk.
* * * * *
Clang.
The final chime struck midnight.
Two hours of torture.
Two hours of gambling.
Only Daniel was out; his chips distributed between Kes, Cut, and myself. My own stack dwindled, calling for drastic measures of going all in with an unbeatable hand. Kes was the winner, keeping Cut chasing as they puffed like chimneys and drank thousands of pounds worth of cognac.
Every few seconds, my attention wandered to Nila. She hovered like a ghost, jumping at my father’s commands and pre-empting his requests by stocking crisps and emptying ashtrays.
Her presence distracted the hell out of me, but the fact that she refused to look at me drove me insane. She wouldn’t let me silently explain or encourage.
She’d cut me out. In fact, she’d shut down emotionally. The only hint of feeling was dismal resignation.
“Your turn, Jet,” Kes prompted, pointing at the flop.
I ran a hand through my hair. My mind wasn’t on the game, only the fucking chimes of the clock.
One a.m. was the starting bell.
One more hour to go before the catastrophe began.
“I fold.” Throwing the cards face down on the felt, I took another sip of my drink. The liquor formed a decent barrier with the drugs in my system, relaxing me enough to remain myself and not fester on Cut’s intentions.
