FULL NOVELXO A Drop of Pretty Poison: Chapter 6
I watch as the waves break against the shore. It’s been a long time since I’ve come up here. This shitty old ice cream place closed down a few years ago, but its bones still remain. After my dad left, this is where I came to think. To give myself a minute of not having to pretend to be strong. I’d climb up to the roof and sit on this ledge, letting my feet hang off the edge, and just watch the ocean.
I guess old habits really do die hard.
My phone goes off, adding to the building list of notifications, but I can’t bring myself to look at it. There are so many different emotions running through me. Emotions I can’t seem to make sense of.
Hurt.
Anger.
Chaos.
Confusion.
It’s like yesterday, only intensified.
I’m sure if I answered one of Laiken’s calls, she would be able to make me feel better, but right now, I just can’t. I need to feel this. It’s all the things I forced myself to block out after I accepted the fact that he was never coming back. And even though I knew it then, there was still that little sliver of hope.
A part of me wonders if it would bother me less if he had gotten his life together. If it was something about us that made him drink until he passed out every night. At least then I’d have something to blame it all on, rather than having to come to terms with the fact that he simply loved his alcohol more than anything else in his life.
I think the worst part is remembering the times he wasn’t drunk. When I was little and he was an actual father. And believe it or not, he was a good one. He bought me my first hockey stick after we watched a game together on TV. God, he was so fucking proud when he came to my first game.
My parents always looked so happy together. Dad would come home every payday with a bouquet of flowers just to show Mom he loved her. And when Devin got jealous, he would pull one of them out and hand it to her. But she was only seven when he started drinking.
They kept up appearances, making us look like this loving family, but inside those four walls, it was hell. My mom never told us what led to his drinking. She always said it wasn’t our burden to bear. All I remember is him coming home one day, stumbling through the front door, drunk off his ass. And it only got worse from there.
The fighting was the hardest part. All of the screaming that would come through the walls, no matter how much Mom tried to keep her voice down. I sheltered Devin from it as much as I could. She thought I was just being a cool big brother who wanted to listen to music with her while dancing around the room or jumping on the bed. I don’t think she ever realized I was just trying to keep her from hearing it.
Then the time came where he left, and the sound of the door slamming shut haunted me for months.
Mom was an emotional basket case—crying every night after spending the day being strong for us. The house that was once so loving and warm was now a Groundhog Day nightmare that never seemed to end. Devin couldn’t understand that he wasn’t coming back, and I was left to be the man of the house.
Let me tell you, fifteen is too young to be given that kind of responsibility. I was still trying to figure out who the hell I was when the world I knew was ripped out from under me. All the lies I told myself—that it would get better eventually—they were shot to hell with everything else I thought I knew.
But if he was such a shit person, why do I feel like I lost something?
The sound of someone climbing up the side of the building barely registers as I keep my eyes on the ocean, but I don’t turn around to see who it is. There’s only one person who knows about this place. And when Cam sits down next to me with a six pack of beer, he pops one open and hands it to me.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
We sit there in silence, letting the cold beer battle against the heat as it slides down our throats. It’s a little ironic—drinking to get over the loss of my alcoholic father—but Devin has made sure to drill into my head that I am nothing like him. The thing is, I want to be.
Not the version of him that walked out on his family. I’m talking about the dad that would play hockey with me in the street and taught me how to lace up my skates. The one that danced with my mom in the middle of the living room just because he knew it made her smile.
That’s the one I want to be like.
That’s the one I’m grieving.
My phone goes off again, cutting through the silence like a knife, but I don’t make a move to look at it.
“They’re worried about you, you know,” Cam tells me.
I take another sip of my beer. “No reason to be. I’m fine.”
He snorts. “Oh, yeah. Because going off the grid and not answering your phone for hours really shows that you’re just peachy.”
Leave it to him to force a smile out of me. “You’re such a dick.”
As I finish the one and turn to replace it with another, we fall quiet again. But I can’t seem to make sense of everything running through my head. It’s like I’m being torn completely in half.
“I don’t even know why I care right now,” I admit. “I mean, the guy didn’t give a shit about me, why should I give a shit about him?”
“Because you’re human, and you care, even if you think you shouldn’t,” Cam answers. “That doesn’t make you a bad person or naive for giving a shit. It just goes to show that you’re better than he was.”
“Is it wrong that I didn’t want him to die? That I’m actually pissed he’s not stumbling around drunk somewhere?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. You’re feeling the same loss you did six years ago, but this time is more permanent. It’s understandable, at least to me anyway.”
I nod slowly and then shrug. “I think it’s just that I can’t come to grips with hating him as much as I did a few days ago. Before I knew he was gone.”
“Because you don’t hate him anymore.” The way he says it is like it’s the most obvious thing in the world to everyone but me. “You did. I know you did. And I’m sure there are parts of you that still do. But the drunk that you hated died, and all that’s left is what you choose to remember. The alcoholic is the one who walked out on you, but the dad that you still have some memories of, he died, too. It doesn’t make you less of a person for feeling the pain of that.”
I let his words set in as I watch the ships on the horizon, and every last thing he said hits home. The more I think about it, the more it registers. I might not understand all of what I’m feeling, but what Cam said definitely helps put me in a better place. One where I’m not about to self-destruct out of chaotic rage.
“Thanks, man,” I say genuinely.
“No problem,” he answers, and the text message tone goes off again. “But for the love of God, answer my sister before she has a stroke.”
Cringing, I take out my phone and see the endless string of notifications. I open Laiken’s and type out a text—I’ll read everything she sent later.
I’m okay. I love you.
I send a quick message to the group chat with my mom and Devin, too, and then slip my phone back into my pocket.
“So, are we good?” I question, because if when we leave here, he’s going to go back to hating me, I think I’d choose to stay for a bit.
He rolls his eyes. “I mean, I can’t say I like it. The idea of you and Laiken together makes me want to wash my brain in acid.”
I can’t help but laugh because I get it. I’d feel the same way if I found out he was hooking up with Devin. But after a minute, we both turn serious again as it goes quiet.
“Do I have to worry about you hurting her?” he asks after a moment.
I shake my head without hesitation. “I’m crazy about her.”
He nods slowly, turning his head straight and taking another sip. “Then I guess I’m going to have to learn to deal with it.”
Relief floods through me, numbing out all the feelings I was struggling with before. I love Laiken. I really do. And if she was all I had, I know that I would be okay. But if I have her and my best friend, nothing can ever bring me down.
“Hey,” I nudge him. “She can’t get mad at you if you go for Mali now.”
Cam snorts, raising a brow at me. “Is that your silver lining?”
“It’s all I’ve got,” I say with a shrug, and he shakes his head humorously.
We get up and go over to the maintenance ladder, climbing down. But as we start to walk back to our cars, an idea comes to mind.
“You have any interest in owning a bar with me?”
He looks over at me. “You serious?”
I nod. “Yeah. There was a decent bit of money left in his account when he died, and I want to open a bar with my half of it. But I don’t think I could handle it on my own.”
His expression turns thoughtful as he considers it. “I think that’s something I could get on board with.”
I may not know where my future is going, but I have a feeling it’s going to be great. Laiken was right—taking back some of the joy he stole does feel good.