“I said, go!”
His anger hits and shakes my body.
I stumble back, moving for the door.
When I reach it, I turn back. Putting strength in my spine and my voice, I say, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m saying it anyway. I’m going now because you asked me to, and I’m respecting your wishes. But I love you, kiddo. I will always love you. I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to stay. Never again will I leave you. I will do nothing to risk ever being taken away again. I swear that to you.”
I press my hand to my chest. “I let you down, and it will never happen again. I’m going to prove to you that I mean every word. And I’m going to keep coming back every Saturday and knocking on your door until you decide to let me back in. I won’t give up on you—ever.”
“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” he mutters before turning his back on me.
Pain clamps a strong arm over my chest.
It takes everything in me to pull that door open and walk out of it, leaving him standing there.
Fourteen
Alcohol.
The. Best. Invention. Ever.
Wait…was it invented? Or was it just made?
I don’t know.
And, really, who gives a shit?
Not me—that’s who.
All I give a shit about is that it makes the hurt go away.
Away…away…away.
A few drinks…okay, well, more than a few but less than a lot, and I’m no longer hurting over what Jesse said.
Jesse.
See? Even thinking his name doesn’t hurt like it did an hour ago.
Hurt be gone because Daisy Smith is pain-free!
And it’s the best feeling ever!
I mean, why haven’t I been drinking all along? I’ve been feeling shitty for years, and all that time, I could have been drinking the shitty feelings away.
Alcohol—the cure to all my problems.
And, speaking of alcohol…I have some serious drinking time to make up for, considering I’ve never really drank.
You know, with trying to be a responsible adult and a parent to the kid under my care.
You know, the kid who hates me.
He hates me.
A pain pierces my heart.
No more pain!
More alcohol needed ASAP!
I down the last of my—what am I drinking? Honestly, I have no clue. But it tastes good. Well, actually, it tastes like shite. But it makes me feel better.
I let out a giggle.
The bartender glances at me.
Ah, the bartender. The bringer of goodness.
He’s cute, too.
A bit too clean-looking for my liking but still cute.
Not that I’m interested in men.
Men are bastards.
Wanker bastards.
Every single one of them.
Well, all the men I’ve known, which isn’t many. But whatever.
Smiling, I push my empty glass toward the cute bartender. “I’ll have another of whatever that was.”
That actually comes out like, “I’ll s’have ’nother of whatsever tat twas.”
But it’s all good. I’m drunk, and drunk is awesome!
Cute Bartender leans his forearms on the bar. His shirtsleeves are rolled up. He has nice arms.
Not as nice as Kas’s arms though. Kas’s arms are all strong-looking and muscly. And his skin is so lovely. Lickable. I would totally lick Kas’s arms.
And other parts of him.
Um, hold the effing phone. Why am I thinking about Kas in a sexual way?
He’s another wanker-bastard man. The biggest of wanker-bastard men.
And I don’t like him. At all.
“You sure another drink is a good idea?” Cute Bartender asks me.
I rest my elbows on the bar and place my chin on my fists. It slips off.
I snort-giggle.
Then, I put my chin in the palm of my hand. It’s steadier.
Is it just me, or is the room starting to spin?
“’Tis the best idea I’ve had in a long time.” I give him a big smile.
God, my lips feel weird. Numb.
But numb is good!
Numb means no pain.
Cute Bartender smiles at me. “How about I get you a coffee instead?”
“Um…” I screw my face up. “Will the coffee be Irish?”
He chuckles and shakes his head.
“Then, no siree. I want the alcohol. Lots of alcohol!” I sweep my arms out.
“I think the last thing you need is more alcohol.”
“Alcohol is the only thing I need.”
“Why?” He smiles, bemused.
“Because”—I smile big—“alcohol equals happy.”
“And why aren’t you happy?”
“Who said I wasn’t happy?”
“When a pretty girl like you tells me that alcohol equals happy, then she’s telling me that she’s not happy when she’s sober.”
Oh.
My smiles slips, and then my alcohol-induced loose lips just start yapping, “So, maybe I’m not happy when I’m sober. That doesn’t mean anything. Lots of people need alcohol to feel happy. Sure, they’re probably alcoholics, but I’m thinking I should try that out because nothing else is working for me. I try so hard, and I still manage to fuck everything up. My brother hates me. Actually really hates me.” I press my hand to the pain in my chest that’s trying to force its way back. “He wishes I were dead,” I whisper that last part.