Two minutes later, I drag my ass out of bed and put a bra on beneath my white tank top. Then I tug my leather jacket on, even though it’s hot, just so I can have peace of mind that I won’t nipple flash anyone for the rest of the night. I pull my auburn hair into a ponytail, trace my green eyes with some kohl eyeliner, and slip on black combat boots before heading downstairs.
When I turn into the kitchen, my dad is awake, rummaging through his alcohol stash in the cupboard above the fridge. His thinning hair is in disarray, his plaid jacket and dirty jeans reeking of liquor and cigarette smoke.
“Have you seen my bottle of Jack Daniels?” he asks me, his speech slurred as he staggers to keep his footing. He ends up tripping over his shoelace and bangs his head against the corner of the cupboard. “Shit,” he curses, rubbing his head. “That kind of hurt.”
I almost turn around and leave, walk out the front door and ignore the problem. Bur leaving him starving for alcohol is never a good idea.
“Let me see if I can find it,” I tell him, gently nudging him out of the way as I move up to the counter. Seconds later, I find the bottle right there on the middle shelf amongst the rest of his alcohol stash. “Here you go.” I hand it to him, feeling a bit guilty for being an aid to his addiction. But I also know what will happen if I don’t give it to him: madness; chaos; and a lot of yelling, crying, and broken things for me to clean up in the morning.
He snatches the bottle from my hand and swishes it around, eyeballing the amber liquid through the glass. “It’s almost gone,” he mutters. “Go pick up some more for me.”
“The gas station won’t let me buy anymore,” I tell him, ready to get the hell out of the house for the damn night. “The guy who sold alcohol to minors got busted, and he doesn’t work there anymore.”
“That’s stupid. What the hell am I going to do now?” he gripes, glaring at the bottle in his hand.
“You could stay sober for the weekend,” I timidly suggest. “It might help with the hangover on Monday.”
When he glares at me with his bloodshot eyes, I shrink back.
“Fine.” He slams the bottle down on the table. “I’ll go get it myself.”
“Dad, I don’t think you should go out by yourself when you’re like this.”
He waves me off as he zips up his jacket, oblivious to the heat outside. “I’ll be back in five. Keep an eye on your mother.”
“Dad, I’m leav—”
He walks out of the house, slamming the door.
I let out a deflated sigh then text Micha.
Me: Going to be a bit. Dad needed to go somewhere.
Micha: Ok, I’ll wait for u.
Me: U don’t have to … U should just go without me.
Micha: Don’t want to. Never do.
Part of me smiles, desiring the escape he’ll give me no matter how selfish it is to make him wait for me.
Me: Fine. See c in a bit.
I tuck my phone in my pocket and recline against the counter, watching the back door for my dad to return. Thirty minutes tick by, and I sink down in the kitchen chair. I rotate a bottle of vodka in my hand as I watch the sun descend outside the window and grey the land. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
An hour later, I take a swallow of the vodka, growing restless. I can’t even text my dad to see where he is, because he lost his cell phone one drunken night, and we can’t afford a new one.
I end up finishing the vodka off. There was only about three shots in there, but since I don’t drink very much, I can feel the dizziness swishing around inside me. My phone buzzes, and I check the message, squinting against the glow of the screen.
Micha: Where r u?
I pass the time as I check the oil and antifreeze, making sure it’s ready to go for tonight’s race. The radio is playing, and I sing along to the lyrics of “Imperfect” by Stone Sour.
The sky eventually starts to grey with the sunset, and I try not to worry about how late it’s getting and that Ella is still a no show. It means whatever is going on in her house is bad. That’s usually the case. Either her mother is having an episode, or her father is trashed and being a huge dick.
“I thought you said it was good to race.” Ella suddenly appears beside me.
Startled, I jerk back, banging my head on the hood. “Shit,” I curse, rubbing my head.
Ella smashes her lips together, trying not to laugh at me. “Are you okay?”