The Next Door Neighbour

Chapter 11//Liquid Courage / Anything

Brayden's POV

     THE DOORBELL RANG. Brayden figured there were only two possible people who could've been standing on the opposite side of the front door: the pizza guy or Shailene Avery. However, considering the time of night (10:30 pm, precisely), and the fact that no one had ordered any pizza — a damn shame, if you asked him — it was more likely to be Shailene.

     For one thing, she loved to bother him. Whether it was steadily tapping on his desk or petty cell phone theft, or even falling backwards in unsuccessful attempts at trust falls, she was always doing something to pester him. He figured that not even the late hour could stop her from doing so.

     Also, she'd texted him five minutes before saying how would you feel if I came over right now for no particular reason, to which he answered I wouldn't let you in, to which she replied I'd find a way in, to which he responded I hope you move to Alaska. He didn't wonder why she felt the need to come over right then seeing as she came over pretty much everyday anyway. Instead, he wondered why it had taken her five minutes to walk the minuscule distance from her front door to his. The small, depressing part of him wondered if his parents would care or even notice that Shailene was there at 10:30 on a school night. He decided that they probably wouldn't notice; they'd been in the office speaking in tense tones for the past hour.

     Brayden swung the front door open and felt a rush of cold air seep through his sweatshirt. "I thought I told you to move—" His sentence broke off when he realized it wasn't Shailene after all — it was Sam, and he was crying.

     As sobs racked his best friend's body, shoulders shaking, gloved hand covering mouth, Brayden was certain that time slowed down.  There was no way he could've felt such confusion, despair, and heartbreak in just one regular second. Brayden wrapped his arms around his best friend and felt his heart sink. Sam was always the one that made people smile. Sam was the one you could depend on to cheer you up. Sam was always a friend. To see him break was worse than a million punches to the gut.

Sam needed someone to be strong for him; he needed someone to lean on. As they stood there in the foyer, squeezing tightly, Sam crying for reasons unknown to Brayden at that moment, he knew he had to be the strong one. He had to repay Sam for everything he'd ever done to make Brayden smile, every joke he'd made just to get a laugh, and for rescuing him from almost becoming Boo Radley the other day. He had to be a friend.

"What's wrong?" Brayden whispered once he'd released Sam from his tight grip. He led Sam to the kitchen and immediately began to make two mugs of hot chocolate. He'd definitely have to buy more at the rate he was making it.

Sam collapsed onto a bar stool and rested his head on his arms. His breaths were still shaky, but it seemed he was beginning to calm down — at least enough to speak.

"My mom," Sam choked out, and it took just those two words to send another hot wave of emotion coursing through Brayden's body.

Sam's mother was an alcoholic. She liked her spirits more than her family, and though it was rare, Brayden had still seen bruises. Sam always waved them away like smoke, saying it's nothing, or I just tripped, or you know how violent lacrosse can get. But no matter how violent lacrosse got, it was nothing compared to a drunk mother with only hateful things to slur. Sam denied it all, but Brayden knew. He knew Sam's mom was as two-sided as a dime. A caring mother when sober, who worked at a bar and went to church every Sunday, and a hateful woman when drunk, with a good-for-nothing husband and children who've never done anything for her. He also knew Sam shouldn't carry the weight alone, but he wouldn't open up, and Brayden couldn't force him to. But now, Sam was finally opening up, and Brayden tried to prepare himself to take some of the weight.