~ Z’s POV ~ I back up, wanting to see who it is so I can decide fight or flight. It’s flight. Whoever it is turns around and looks down condescendingly while making the most unamused face ever. Yikes.
“I uh. . .Sorry.” I slink out of his way, figuring I’d ditch class like any other day. “I’m not drunk enough for this shit.” I say, sliding into the Women’s room down the hall. I can’t risk that again. Pulling out a bottle of a vanilla rum mixed with whatever-the-fuck-was-in-the-fridge suicide, I chug the bottle,dumping the last quarter of it onto the wall.
I then pulled out just plain rum and drank it slowly, loving the feeling of dizziness. . .Until I got really bad vertigo. “Dammit,” I curse under my breath, sipping some more of the forbidden juice. I think about my father for a brief moment. ‘What would he say?’
The pain of knowing that my escape was bringing be back to that was awful. I drank and gambled to get away from that. And then there was Anya, standing right there in front of me. I slid my back down the wall, letting my legs spay out, a defeated look plastered onto my face.
The stitch running across my mouth was broken like always, baring my sharpened teeth from the side of my jaw. I watched her hand trace the tears in my check, poking gently at my teeth. “Anya?” I croak, but she doesn’t answer, “Anya please, please, don’t just stand ‘er.”
Tears flood into my view, blurring it. I swat her hand away, angry that she hid herself away from me. “No,” I bumble, “Gey’ awa’y,” I chug more of the drink. An accusative finger points at her. “Tell then you’re a’ive, dammit.”
Anya makes a confused face, stepping back. She pulls her shirt up just above her stomachs. One single stab wound lays deep within her. “Go geh’ ‘edical help,” I shout, tossing the bottle. It spills all over the floor. Anya makes a sad smile, before walking out the door.
“Anya!” I shout drunkenly. ‘No matter’ I guess to myself. I lay there, emotionless and helpless. I really, really hated myself in that moment. I wished I had realized that she was never there. My mind made that up to ring me more guilt and pain.
Or maybe it was a sign. A sign that I should get my sad-ass up off the floor. I couldn’t though. My boots felt heavy, I looked a mess, and I was covered in alcohol. I looked like a mess.
The reality was, I had two options. One was to go to California to meet Anya’s supposed brother. The other was to lie here until the teachers found me. . . . The first option was better by ten thousand percent.
End For Now~