Kaden
Three months later – May, 2024.
Sleep is ripped from me by the bedroom door slamming open, followed by Jason’s deep, thundering voice in my ear.
“It’s time to wake the fuck up!”
Not a minute later, the curtains are thrown open with a loud clang, and a blast of bright light cuts through the stuffy darkened room, making me instantly recoil. I grab the duvet and pull it over my head, trying to block out as much light and noise, but Jason yanks it off me in one swift, ruthless movement.
“Nope, get up! You’re not staying in bed all day again.”
I groan in irritation, wishing my best friend would just disappear into thin air and leave me the hell alone.
“I’m tired, Jase.”
“You’re not tired. You’re hungover as usual.” He kicks an empty bottle of bourbon lying on the floor to emphasise hispoint and I hear it roll under the bed, the sound grating on my senses like nails to a chalkboard. “This room is a fucking pigsty. And you’re starting to smell like a seedy pub in the middle of a highway. Get up, or I’m getting Jake in here to jump on your head...with his football cleats on.”
“Please don’t. My head already feels like a hammer is pounding inside it,” I grumble, my eyes squinting from the blinding light as I glance up at him.
“Well, that’ll teach you to stop drinking so much. Now, get up, get dressed and meet us downstairs. I’m not going to say it twice.”
He snatches a fallen pillow off the floor and wacks it on my face, hard, before strolling out of the room, leaving me alone to pull myself together.Arsehole!
With a heavy sigh, I throw the pillow back on to the ground and reach for my phone on the bedside table. I release an exasperated groan when I see that it’s just past two in the afternoon.
I’ve slept half the day away again. Shit!
I bury my face in my pillow, as if I can somehow hide from the shame and guilt that have become my daily companions.
This is my existence now—a hollow life steeped in self-destruction and misery. And the voice that echoes in the back of my mind never fails to remind me that it’s exactly the life I deserve.
After giving myself a few minutes of self-pity, I slowly sit up against the bedhead, my gaze sweeping across the now quiet room. Empty bottles and beer cans are strewn acrossthe floor and crowd the bedside tables, a silent reminder of just how far I’ve fallen.
How I’ve managed to live like this for the past few months and still wake up breathing is beyond me.
It’s no wonder Jason’s growing tired of me hiding away in here, shut off from the world from day to night. I’m practically wasting away in his guest room with no real desire to change the way I’m living. I’ve officially become a pathetic and useless waste of space.
My head feels as though a drill is chipping away at my skull with sharp, agonising blows. I rub at my temples, trying to ease some of the pressure and stop the fresh wave of nausea rolling through my gut.But it’s useless. My throat is parched, and my tongue is rough as sandpaper, making even swallowing unbearably difficult.
I stare down at my bare torso, pale and clammy in the afternoon light, a grim reminder that I haven’t stepped outside in days, maybe even weeks.I’m not sure anymore. Time has seemed to blur into nothing as of late. Even Jason says I’m starting to look like the walking dead. Hell, I feel like one too—just an empty, sad shell of a person.
“Kaden!” The deep sound of my name echoes from downstairs.
I let out a frustrated groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Yeah, just a sec!” I shout back, forcing my slow and sluggish body out of bed.
After grabbing a shirt and a pair of track pants from the drawer and throwing them on, I head downstairs, careful notto stare too long into the full-length mirror. The last thing I need is to see the poor excuse of a man staring back at me.
“He’s alive!” Jason says mockingly as soon as I enter the kitchen.
His six-year-old son, Jake, glances at me from where he’s sitting at the island counter, munching on a sandwich.
“Hi, Un-cool Kaven. Want a san-wich?” he mumbles with a mouth full of food.
“Sure, why not?” I reply, my voice rough and gravelly from the dryness coating my throat. I take a seat beside him just as Jason slides a plate of grilled ham and cheese sandwich, and a cup of coffee towards me.
“Eat up,” he orders. “It’ll help soak up some of that alcohol drowning your system.”
I shoot a quick look at Jake, feeling a twinge of shame for my lack of control. But thankfully, he’s too absorbed in whatever game he’s playing on his tablet.
