Page 36 of The Wreckage of Us
“I’m not feeling up to drinking tonight.”
“What? Of course you’re feeling up to drinking tonight. Everyone should be feeling up to drinking every night. Drinking is fun,” she exclaimed.
I sat on the opposite side of the sofa. “And how many times have you drank?”
“Oh, psh.” She puckered her lips and blew out a heavy breath. “Counting today?”
“Uh-huh.”
She held two fingers up, and then she studied her fingers with a dumbfounded stare. Then she dropped one finger. I couldn’t help but snicker, because she left her middle finger up without even knowing.
Hazel Stone was officially partaking in her first ever drinking display, and she was officially shit faced.
“You know what I miss?” she asked, rubbing the back of her hand against her mouth.
“What’s that?”
“The shed.”
I laughed. “Am I that bad of a roommate that you’d rather live in a shed?”
“No.” She giggled, and it sounded kind of beautiful. “I just mean I miss looking up through the ceiling at the stars and sky. I love the stars and moon. It makes me realize that there’s so much more than my problems out there.”
“Are you the type of person to wish on stars?”
“I’m the type of person to wish on everything.” She tilted her head toward me. “Does it always feel this good? Being drunk?”
“Depends. I can’t drink whiskey, because it makes me sad.”
“What the heck do you have to be sad about? You sing like a god, you live rent-free, and your grandparents are freaking amazing! Plus, you’re H-A-W-T.Hawt. Like, if I didn’t know how many women you’ve put your penis in, I’d think about you putting your penis in me, too, you know, if I let people put penises in me.”
The words tumbled off her tongue with such ease, and I knew if she were sober, she’d kick herself for saying those things out loud.
Didn’t mean I couldn’t have some fun with it.
“Oh. You think I’m H-A-W-T?” I asked.
“Yes, I do. If I had a lady boner, it would be erected all day every day when I’m around you. Even when you’re mean to me.”
I frowned. “I’m sorry I’ve been mean to you, Haze.” The more I watched her in her drunken state, the more guilt hit me for being so closed off toward her.
“It’s okay. I’m used to people being mean to me.”
That made me feel like complete shit. I brushed my thumb against my nose and moved in closer to her.
“What are you doing?” she nervously asked.
“Checking your bruise. May I?” I asked, my hand hovering in the air.
She nodded slowly.
My fingers landed against her cheek, and she didn’t flinch from the touch. She just kept humming to herself.
“Does that hurt?”
She shook her head. “I don’t feel anything but good.”
“Another side effect of booze.”