I lied," I say still looking at his lips, he opens his eyes and gazes over at me.
"Uh oh," he whispers, not breaking eye contact. I am suddenly aware of his lingering stare. He looks at me everywhere, every inch, there was no hiding from it. His ga...
IM DIZZY WHEN I GET HOME. I finished off the rest of the bottle on my walk home. I don't even feel the cold nipping at me. I don't feel anything, but the buzz. My chest is warm and my nose is bright red. I strolling along like a zombie.
Bentley is excited to see me when I come through the door. My dad is up, poking away at his iPad, sipping a scotch on the rocks, his usual, in our dimly lit living room. He looks up at me from under his glasses.
"You're drinking again, for fucks sake, Ezra." He says with anger, he's not concerned, he says it because he knows how I get, first comes the drinking and then the drug use and then, just like that, I don't want to live anymore. He's embarrassed of me. He wishes I was more like my cousin Fred, I know it because he tells me so, at least a dozen times a week.
The irony makes me laugh, I can't deal with him right now. This only angers my dad more, good. He clenches his jaw, putting the tablet down. "Aren't you drinking, right now?" I question, reaching down to give Bentley head scratches. I nearly topple over, but I manage. Bentley's tail thumps on the hardwood floor, lazily, he gives me a few kisses, before he trudges away, to my bedroom. He doesn't go to bed until I'm home, he waits up for me every single night.
"Unlike you, I'm a real man." He begins. "I'm not some suicidal fucking queer," He rises from the couch. He's still in a suit and tie, from his dinner date with mom. There's a humongous bouquet of red roses on the grand piano, near the floor to ceiling windows.
I rise to my feet angrily. So fucking angry at everything, I hated that I looked like him, hated that he made up fifty percent of my DNA.
"I know you just did it for attention, you're pathetic." He says it calmly, like he's stating a fact.
He's in front of me now and I can smell the booze on his breath, it makes me sick to my stomach. I want to punch and kick him for everything he's done, for ruining me. I want to beat his face until it's a bloodied pulp, but i'm too scared. I am pathetic, he's right.
"Fuck you," I say it to his face, staring into his eyes when I say it. I want him to know that I mean it. I never stand up to him, I don't know why I do today, it had to be the alcohol in my system, or the numbness that was brewing in me like a winter blizzard.
I think I want to feel something, I know he'll strike me for it. Of course he does, right to the gut. I double over, puking my guts out all over the floor. I fall to the ground, weak and empty. My stomach aching, I double over in pain, head hung low. He's standing over me now. He looks like an evil tyrant king.
My dad watches with an amused expression. "I wish I had a son instead of a daughter, can't even hold your damn alcohol."
He strikes me again on the face, kicking me while i'm down. "Now get this cleaned up," He finishes the rest of his scotch, leaving me there.
