Beautiful Tragedy ✔️

twenty-four;

"To hell with this." I make a move to get up, but Lizzie quickly grabs the sleeve of my shirt in a tight fist.

"Sit down," she commands. "Sit down and tell me what the hell has your panties in a bunch. If it'll make it easier we can drink about it."

"Really, Liz? At one in the afternoon?" I raise an eyebrow at her, but sit back down.

"You used to tell me about your problems all the time," she murmurs, her eyes pleading. "It was always us against the world, Alex. Let me help you."

She's right. Before she moved to New York I used to go to her all the time. I'd vent about my petty annoyances before letting them inflate my temper, and she'd calm me down by helping me sort through them.

I lower myself back down onto the sofa cushions in defeat.

"Fine," I mutter, dragging a hand over my face. "But I'm not doing this without whiskey. Lots of it."

Lizzie claps her hands excitedly and rushes out of the living room on her quest for alcohol. I cross my arms over my chest and lean back, staring up at the arched ceilings of our childhood home.

I might as well come clean, I tell myself. It's not exactly my secret to tell, but I have to get some kind of advice. If I let this sit for too long it'll fester, and I won't be able to stop myself from going after that prick.

She returns to the living room with two lowball glasses halfway filled with ice and a bottle of Honey Jack. Lizzie sets them down on the coffee table, on coasters of course or our mother would have a fit, and twists off the cap to the whiskey.

At least this will help with the hangover.

She fills a glass with a generous serving and bends it to me before pouring once for herself.

"Alright little brother, get talking." Lizzie gives me an expectant look over the rim of her glass before taking a drink.

I follow suit, tipping my glass back and taking a large mouthful of the burning liquid past my lips. "It's not just Mabel, there's shit with school and hockey too."
She nods, settling further into the couch. "Like what?"

I go on to explain the predicament I'm in regarding choosing between hockey and my degree while continuously sipping my drink. By the time I'm finished ranting about that I can hardly feel the burn of the liquor as it slides down my throat.

"Shit Alex, what are you going to do?" Lizzie asks with wide eyes.

I shrug. "Coach said he could try and work with my schedule, but I'm not too sure about that. I mean, what's the point if I won't have as much time on the ice?"

"It's a nice offer though," she insists.

"True." I sigh loudly. "You should've heard what he said though. The guy likes to say that the team is a bunch of gossip queens but he hears -everything. He thought Mabel would be the reason I don't want to go pro."

"What an ass. Why would he think that?"

"He's seen it happen before." I grab the Jack and pour myself another glass. "Few years back he had a guy who was pretty girl crazy. The guy was scouted by the NHL and came really close to signing with a team but I guess his girlfriend went crazy about it. Blackmailed him with a sex tape, saying she would send it to the team manager and his family and all that. Then she trashed the locker room at DU."

Lizzie takes a long pull from her drink and slams it back onto the coaster, making a show of dragging the bag of her hand across her mouth. "Damn. Bitches be trippin'."