A fist pounds against the front door. It steals my attention immediately. Without looking out the window to see who the hell is bothering me, I swing open the door. One of the last people I want to see stares back at me.
Sebastian.
I slam it closed and turn on my heel, my head already back in bed playing tug of war with the bottle of Jack Daniel’s that I dropped nearly fifty bucks on.
Much to my chagrin, the door opens behind me a second later.
“Go home,” is what I call out over my shoulder as I enter the kitchen. I open one of the cabinets and find a pack of crackers. It’s not paired with its box, so I have no idea if they’re expired. I rip the plastic away and reluctantly pop one into my mouth. It’s stale. I toss the rest of the pack on the counter, knowing I won’t be eating another.
Sebastian stands at the opening of the kitchen, his expression pulled taut. One glance at him, and I drop my gaze. I don’t want to see the pity in his eyes.
“People are trying to get ahold of you.”
“I don’t want to be contacted.”
He plants his hands on his hips, and it’s fucking weird. Mostly because I can’t remember a time he’s been in this house. When we were kids, he was never allowed inside.
“You can’t hole yourself up here,” he tells me, but oh, I can. I have since I fucked Violet for the last time and left her. “I know what you’re going through is fucking hard?—”
“No, Seb, you don’tknow. You’ve been sheltered your whole goddamn life. Given whatever you’ve wanted and needed. Had the support people would literally kill for. You don’t get to walk in here and tell me anything about whatI’mgoing through.”
He rolls his lips into his mouth. His jaw ticks. “All I have to do is look at your face and see you’re not okay. Jesus Christ,when was the last time you showered? I can smell you from across the room.”
I cross my arms over my chest and square my shoulders. “No one asked you to come.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
I look out the kitchen window. I don’t need this bullshit. I don’t need Sebastian storming in here like a fairy fucking godmother with the promise of having the magic potion to heal all.
“Mom sent me.”
“Yeah, well, tell Aunt Bess you didn’t see me,” I tell him.
“Do you hear yourself? I’m not gonna do that.”
“Then don’t. But you still need to go.”
“I’d be a piece of shit if I left right now.”
I lift my chin and stare him down. “Who says you’re not one already?”
It’s a low blow, one I feel in my stomach as hurt crosses my cousin’s face. He doesn’t deserve this. Doesn’t deserve how awful I’m being. This is part of the reason I’m pushing Violet into the past. Because I know how much of an asshole I can be, and I don’t need her seeing that. I don’t want to be the one responsible for ripping her heart out of her chest and stomping on it like a pile of dead leaves on fire.
“I’m sorry she’s gone, man. But you don’t need to take a thousand steps back because of it. You don’t have to be that angry teenager again.”
Yes, I do, I want to scream.
I’ve been obliterated by Mom’s departure. Her death coils into more of me the farther I get away from saying goodbye. The complete opposite of the “time heals all wounds” phrase people cling to.
I’m pissed at the world.
At myself.
Every single person in my path.
And all the circumstances I couldn’t change.
At having a mother who was too goddamn selfish to care.
