Page 15 of Forbidden Romeo
“Junie!” Jill hisses. “No!”
I blink at the items scattered across my area rug. My wallet. Chapstick. A tampon. And the program my dad had given me the same day he died.
I swallow the tears down, burying them as determination sprouts from somewhere deep and dark inside me.
I jump to my feet, causing Junie to dart out of my room. Leaving my suitcase on the bed, still half-unpacked, I grab my purse and head for the front door.
“Where are you going?” Jill asks, following me.
I yank my jacket off of the hook and sling it around my shoulders. “To get to the bottom of this. Nothing is going to be fixed with me sitting here feeling sorry for myself.”
Before I can run out the door, Jill grasps me by my shoulders and tugs me into her embrace. “There’s my best friend. Go get ’em.”
CHAPTER 7
Holden
Five years ago…
I’d pretty much spent the last few days in a drunken haze. Duncan, Jill, Katherine, Meg, and I left my mom’s wake and I proceeded to get black out drunk.
And I stayed that way all through the funeral.
Today was my first day not drunk… and only because I knew I needed to drive back to school.
I arrived home to an empty house and didn’t bother unpacking. I left my duffel bag tossed carelessly in the hallway and went straight to the fridge to grab a beer.
Settling on the couch, I kicked my feet onto the coffee table and took a long sip. The quiet condo was both unnerving and nice all at once. Though I couldn’t tell if I was happy that my roommates weren't home or if I was bored.
I took another long sip of beer, the cold liquid soothing my throat but doing little to ease the ache in my heart. As I sat alone in the quiet condo, my thoughts inevitably turned to my mom.
God, I missed her.
The grief caught me by surprise.
Even though it had only been a week, it felt like she’d been gone for years in some ways. Like I was always living on the precipice of losing her; she was gone when she was drunk.
But I always knew she’d come back… even if it was hungover.
A painful lump formed in my throat as I thought about how I'd never hear her voice or feel her comforting touch again. She'd never see me graduate or go to law school or God forbid, maybe get married or have kids of my own.
It wasn't fair. She was supposed to be here.
Tears stung my eyes and I angrily wiped them away, finishing the rest of my beer with a hearty swig. The alcohol provided a numb escape, however temporary. I knew I shouldn't rely on it, but right now it was the only thing keeping me from completely breaking down.
Jumping to my feet, I yanked the silver tequila from our house stash and yanked the cap off. The sharp aroma of tequila filled my nose, making my head swim. But I didn't care - anything to numb the pain. I grabbed a shot glass and poured it to the rim.
The clear liquid filled the shot glass, its edges catching the light from the dim overhead lamp. I could see myself reflected in its surface, my pained expression and tear-streaked cheeks. The tequila glinted dangerously, promising a release from my emotional turmoil.
I tipped it back fast.
The fiery burn coated my throat, bitter yet strangely satisfying. Its heat spread through me, chasing away the cold emptiness that had settled in my chest.
It was like swallowing liquid fire, each drop a scorching kiss on my tongue, a fleeting distraction from the pain that threatened to consume me. I poured another shot, hoping to drown the memories and sorrow in a sea of tequila.
For the first time in my life, I understood my mom.
I understood why she reached for booze. Why she ached for this numbing sensation.