Incomplete (Hollow Sequel)

Chapter 17- From the Dining Table

I could relate to the last part. I needed her too and she just left us. If he didn't keep such a close eye on me when he was sober, I too might've drowned my sorrows.

"Harry, what are you doing?" I screeched as the smell of cigarette smoke filled my nose.

I turned back to look at him, disgusted by the cancer stick that fit perfectly between his lips. I felt an odd feeling within me. Disappointment. That's what it was. I snatched it from his mouth, putting it out on his nightstand. I was about to go on a tangent about how bad they were for ones health, but the idiot just lit another, inhaling so expertly that I realized it wasn't his first rodeo.

Still, I wasn't about to take part of this disgusting habit. Again, I took the stick he'd just lit, squishing it on his nightstand, next to the other. He just chuckled, grabbing another from a freshly opened package. Anger surged through me, tears prickling the corners of my eyes. I didn't understand my frustration, but I just knew, I wasn't about to let him smoke. I took the pack, emptying the entire pack into my hands, crushing them to little pieces, letting them crumble to the carpeted floor.

He grew angry, his nostrils flaring, but he remained perfectly still, aside from his heavy breathing. "I need a drink," he announced, attempting to get up.

"No, you've had enough," I retorted, shoving him back down.

"Mind your own fucking business, Grey!" He growled this time, pushing me aside to the display of alcohol bottles I'd just noticed were on what used to be my sister's vanity.

"I hate you," I mumbled under my breath, not intending him to hear. It was childish and I'd learned from A.J. long ago that hate was a very strong word that shouldn't be used lightly. Or at all if you could help it.

"Good," he laughed. "That makes two of you. Why don't you ring up that bitch mum of your and we'll make it a family thing. All the women-"

"SHUT UP!" I screamed, the stomp from my foot not going unnoticed, causing Harry some more laughter.

"Brat," he snickered, finishing his glass of amber liquid in one gulp before slamming it back down, attempting to serve himself some more.

"I get it now," I called out, making him pause his shaky hand. "Why she left you. You're a drunk. Useless." I let my anger speak for me, though, deep down, I don't think I meant a word. "Who would want to love a drunk."

"GET OUT!" He roared as he chucked the bottle of whisky my way, clashing against a wall. Even in his drunken state, I knew it wasn't his intention to hurt me, otherwise, he would have aimed much lower.

I had every intention of doing as he wanted, but before I did, I went around the room, collecting every bottle of alcohol I could find. He didn't protest, but just stared at me. I could see the apology in his eyes, but he was stubborn and wasn't about to stoop down to the level of a decent human being and apologize for his poor behavior and I didn't expect him to. It would have only pissed me off even further.

I went to my sister's closet, grabbing one of the large tote bags, shoving the bottles in it before I went around the room, searching every nook and cranny, finding bottles and flasks hidden between folded clothes and under his bed, in dressers. It was sad.

He watched, but said nothing. Instead, he curled up in his bed, hugging my sister's pillow tightly. Next, I moved to the old nursery, also finding some flasks hidden away. I searched nearly every inch of the enormous mansion, having to drag the heavy tote on the ground because it was too heavy for me to carry.