"This has to stop," she replies.
"I can't. Not yet."
"August, this isn't a joke. You're becoming a mess, and this isn't the way to mourn Keegan's death. Oh, and why in the world did you go to that funeral without me? I told you I would be with you if you decided to go."
"I wanted to go alone."
"August, stop with the whiskey," she demands.
May has never taken the older sibling role with me. I've always been the more mature one of the two, trying to set a good example and whatnot. I guess I'm not doing such a wonderful job at the moment.
The only response I can think of is, "Okay, I'll stop," knowing full well it's a lie. I do not feel what I need to feel yet. I haven't replaced anything I love with the thought of whiskey. I need to know what it feels like before I stop.
"Thank you," May says, clearly believing me. For anyone not addicted to alcohol, it would be as easy as promising a loved one that the out of character behavior would come to an end. However, for an addict, promises don't mean a thing. I
"I have to get to work. There's a bus stop down the block, right?"
"It comes once an hour. Just give me a few minutes to put some clothes on, and I'll take you to your car."
"I owe you," I tell her.
At least, I feel like an idiot after my outrageous behavior.
I don't recall a time when Keegan appeared to feel this way. He just expected everyone to cater to his disease.
In the midst of one of his worst episodes, which was last year around this time, he almost got me fired.
I was at work, counseling a child, when Keegan walked in the group home's front door. People aren't allowed to just walk in through those doors. We have keys, and we ID. He had a spare key that I kept in my top drawer for emergencies.
"Auggie," he shouted, walking through the door. "Babe, I need you."
My face immediately became hot, and I'm sure it was red. "What are you doing here?" I grunted, cutting my glare between his face and Zooey's. It was Zooey's first week at the group home, and she had just turned three. I was gently trying to ask her some easy questions before working on the adjustment phase, from living with two abusive parents to living without either of them.
"I need your keys. A sheriff booted my car because he told me I was drunk. It's ten o'clock in the morning, babe. No one is drunk at ten in the morning. Right?"
"You need to leave right now, Keegan."
"Give me your keys. I'll come back to pick you up at four."
"I get out of work at five, and you aren't driving my car in your current state."
"Dude, you're taking the sheriff's side?"
"I can't do this right now," I warn him again.
I should have known what was about to happen. For a second, I thought about just giving Keegan my keys without worrying about him driving drunk, but I couldn't in good conscience.
Within seconds, Leena stepped into my office; her eyes were wide and full of anger. "We have rules in this house, Miss Taylor."
I had never gotten in trouble at work before. I had seniority because of my certifications, but I still had to answer to Leena. She oversaw everything that happened in the house. If anyone broke the law or a rule, it didn't matter who was at fault because we'd all be held responsible.
"He's leaving," I told her. "I'm so sorry. I—"I had no idea what to say. I didn't want to defend him, but he got through that door because of my negligence at leaving a key behind.
"Now," she demanded.
"Thanks a lot, August," Keegan said as he turned to leave. "I'll just walk the fifteen miles home."
"Good," I muttered. "We'll talk about this tonight."
