intoxicated- rafe cameron

one

Let's jump right in, shall we?

I was born here in the OBX, and I stayed here for maybe a year, possibly two. After my mom had me, her post-partum depression got so bad she killed herself. Overdose.  Then my dad, being the best fucking person ever, signed me up for foster care because he didn't want a child without my mom in the picture. Right when I needed him most, he left.

I guess he wasn't up to raising a child all by himself.

I was pushed into foster care. Shortly after, I moved to this half-ass city on the border of North Carolina and Virginia. And may I say, it fucking sucked ass. All the kids there were either goody-two-shoes or moody bitches from the wrong side of the tracks. There was no happy medium. You got one or the other.

Since my life was already a fuck up and so was I, I fell off the rails and went totally ballistic. My best friends and I become the "south-siders." I spent every minute with them. We hooked up with strangers, hung out and drank underage, did drugs, participated in drag races... We basically did whatever the fuck we wanted.

And I loved it. I wouldn't trade that in for anything. In fact, that'll be the only part of my life that I miss. Even though me and my friends did some pretty illegal and bad shit, they saved me, believe it or not. They were the ones that kept me alive when I was struggling.

When I graduated high school a few months ago (surprisingly), that's when my dad decided he wanted to get me back. This so-called "man" only wants me now that I'm all grown up and there's nothing left he can do to parent me. There's no more fussy baby, bitchy toddler, needy kid, or disobedient teenager. Now I'm just a young adult moving to my rich dad's house.

My dad may be a dumb fuck, but at least now I'll have a nice place to live and have everything handed to me. Can't argue with that logic.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"There she is!" I hear as I walk through the front door. I set my few bags down on the wooden floor while a smiling man runs towards me.

My 'dad'.

I was expecting him to look rough and not so... put together based on my knowledge and memory of him. He runs into the entryway in a peach-collared shirt and plain dress pants. He's about as tall as me, 5'8" ish. His hair and beard are a mix of blackish-gray. Damn, he certainly wasn't one of those guys who aged like Paul Rudd.

"How are you?" he asks, his blue eyes bright with excitement.

I nod with my lips in a fine line. "Fine...?" That's what he had to said after 19 years?

His smile falters at my comment. He shakes his head, ridding his mind of whatever thoughts of me are running through his head. He looks back up at me with his pearly white teeth, which are definitely bleached, by the way. 

"Okay, well, your room is the first door on the right up the stairs. I have a housing lot to look at with one of my co-workers, so I do apologize. The fostering... place, uh- didn't tell me when you were coming by,  I apologize that I have to leave already. We'll be back around dinner. We'll be eating with his family tonight."

We?

Who the fuck is we?

And who the fuck is he?

"I'm hoping that we might all become great friends and efficient business partners," he leads on. He grabs his keys off the hook behind me before going on. "I'm really sorry that I'm leaving, but I'll see you later, sweetie."

Business partners...?

Sweetie..?

"Okay, bye," I say. Not gonna lie, I'm a bit stunned by his act like nothing that he's done to me has ever happened.