A Waltz With Wolves (Book II in The Harrison Inc. Series) | ✓

Chapter Two: The Enemy of My Enemy

Screw him. When has his judgment done me any favors? When has anyone's judgment done me any favors? In truth, Leslie and him have more in common than she likes to admit. God, I don't even know what I'm saying right now.

"Get up."

I think I'm going crazy until I see Claude standing by my bed. He has his arms crossed against his chest; I can tell he's pissed off.

I ignore him, hoping he'll go away if I do, but he doesn't. He takes the covers of my bed and pulls them off me. Now I'm fully awake.

"What the hell, Claude—"

"I said get up. Right now."

He sounds as authoritative as my father, and I'm not gonna lie when I say that scares me.

I slowly push myself up. Claude's eyes flicker to the empty capsule of painkillers on the bedside table. His expression is even more angry.

Wordlessly, he grabs hold of my arm and drags me off the bed and into the bathroom. I'm practically deadweight, thanks to the drugs and alcohol coursing through my system. He sets me in front of the toilet, and there he makes me throw everything up. And that's what I do. Besides being a stubborn ass, I do what he says. I'm embarrassed once I realize what I've been doing to myself and who has been witness to it. Who knew throwing up your life could give you epiphanies?

After I can't throw up anymore, there's a cold silence between Claude and I. He leans against my bathroom counter, staring down at me like a disappointed parent.

"You're a mess, Sebastian." He finally says, oddly calm. "No one else has the balls to tell you upfront how fucked up you are, but that doesn't mean you aren't in the shittiest state you can be right now."

I avoid his eyes. "I'm...I'm sorry—"

"I'm not the one you need to be apologizing to."

This situation seems all too familiar—the night I was close to O.D'ing until Leslie came in and found me unable to form a coherent sentence. She was much more comforting and understanding than Claude is right now; Claude is more honest than I can accept. I shake the memory from my mind and the person that it comes along with.

I flush the toilet and wash my face with cold water. Then I lean my weight against the counter next to Claude, looking at my unrecognizable reflection in the mirror.

"I don't know what to do," I tell him. "My mind is telling me one thing but I feel this compulsion to do another."

"That's your pride. Your pride, your anger, your distrust. All of those feelings mashed up into one, dragging you around one way and another."

I hate when he's right. I fucking hate it.

"Look," he says, his tone not as demanding. "I'm not here to tell you right from wrong. But I am gonna try and guide you in the direction you need to go. You need to sit and decide where your priorities lie, and reflect on who you are as a man with commitments you need to live up to. You've got responsibilities to take care of, and I know you know what they are. But how you deal with them? That's on you."

"But what if I don't want these responsibilities? I mean I...I didn't ask for any of this."

"None of us ask for most of the shit that life gives us. But you deal with it anyway. That's what determines whether you're an adult or a child."

"So is me being upset at Leslie acting like a child?"

"What do you think?"

I laugh, "I think that you're giving her too much credit. You know how she is; you dug into her past."