t w e n t y - f o u r

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A D D I S O N  P A R K E R

The lead up for Ryan to come home, was both torture and also a mortifying experience.

Colton and I avoided each other at all costs.

He would leave me every morning, which I was fine by I caught rides with Elody and Clayton. Then he wouldn't show up at school. And he'd come home, reeking of liquor and alcohol.

I don't know where he went or who he was hanging out with, but whoever would drop him home each night, left me lugging a passed out Colton up the stairs and into his bed.

Every morning he'd wake up with a new bruise on his leg from me having to carry him up the stairs, and a gruelling hangover.

It's finally Saturday, Ryan's due home early this morning. I purposely set my alarm early just because I wanted to see him.

I couldn't stand another moment being alone in this house with Colton. I don't understand why he didn't just go back to his house. But whoever was dropping him off continued to drop him off here.

I'm in the kitchen right now, cooking up a breakfast for Ryan. I her a loud groan come from the elephant who's stomping down the stairs.

I don't bother to ask if he's okay. It's what's happened these past few mornings, he stomps down the stairs whining about his headache, I say nothing and we move on with our days.

He walks into the kitchen, stops quickly to see what I'm doing then continues to find the Advil. I can't help but quickly glance at his toned shirtless body.

My eyes rake over every dip and every crevice of his toned abdomens. But I snap out of it focusing back on my my breakfast.

I hear Colton rummaging through the cupboards where the Advil is kept. "What the fuck!" He shouts.

"How the fuck have we run out of Advil? We have heaps of the shit." He complains.

I scoff at him. "Well if you haven't been getting stoned and drink every night. Then left me to look after you, maybe we'd have some." I mumble under my breath.

I can feel his flare shooting daggers at my head, I know he heard me. "Fuck off little girl, you don't know shit." He spits. Then runs his temple, his heads probably pounding.

I roll my eyes. Desperately wanting to push his buttons, like he's done mine. "Whatever stoner." I mumble. Thinking of the only thing I can to get at him, I was at my last resort with that one.

"I'm not a fucking stoner, bubs." He grits, I shudder at the use on the nickname used in that tone. But at least he's starting to get riled up.

I chuckle. "Oh sorry, I meant a stoner and a drunk!" I shout, he winces at how loud my voice was.

"Don't fucking shout! My head is fucking throbbing!" He growls.

I smirk, he thinks he can come home high and drink and expect me to look after him. Then complain about his hangover. Maybe he'll have to learn his lesson the hard way.

I quickly turn the stove off, so I don't burn the house down. I start grabbing pots, pans and as many loud utensils that I can from the cupboards, trying to make as much noise as possible. And I smack them around.

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