Gateway Drug | Volume I

Gateway Drug | Part Five

"Yeah, you were. It's his fucking choice whether he wants to finish school or not. You're only job as his friend is to support whatever the hell he does."

"Have you always had friends that kiss your feet and don't tell you when you're being an idiot because it really sounds like you don't know what actual friends do: tell you the mess you don't want to hear but really need hear to anyway." I cut my eyes at him. "At least that's how actual friendships are suppose to work, last time I checked."

"And last time I checked, Tommy didn't come out of your pussy eighteen years ago, so there's no need for you to be acting like his mother!" He raises his voice.

"If me wanting what's best for him means I act like his mother, then so be it!" I shout, losing my temper. "It's not any of your business, anyway, so screw off!"

"He's a drummer for my band, shit is affecting Mötley Crüe, which makes it my business, and you don't know shit about what's good for him!"

"You're impossible to speak a lick of sense in to, so I'm going home. Leave me alone." I shove him hard enough that he actually stumbles back a couple steps, giving me time to open my car door, but I quickly regret it when it slams shut, catching my fingers in it.

And he's completely unapologetic, knocking back a swig of whiskey as he watches me try to calm the excruciating pain in my fingers with tears coming down my face.

"Oops." He mumbles. "Look, just get in the fuckin' car and I'll driv-" I use my unharmed hand to snatch the full bottle of alcohol from him, smashing it on the pavement and he gives me a black stare.

"Oops." I spit out.

I don't even think he's mad about the wasted bottle of perfectly good liquor, until he's suddenly grabbing me by my upper arm, hauling me roughly to the passenger side.

I'm tossed in to the car with little regard as he slams the door, walks around the car and gets in the driver's seat, grabbing my Bible off the roof of my car.

"You can give me your keys or I can hot wire the damn thing, it's up to you, either way you will be seeing Tommy tonight and apologizing. We're not suffering all because you're being a little bitch." He tells me with little room to argue and I dig in my bag for my keys, trying to ignore the aching throb in my fingers on my other hand.

He takes the keys and throws my Bible in the backseat carelessly, causing me to cringe and he notices it.

"Sorry." I barely hear him, but I know he says it.

Once we get to their run-down apartment, I stomp inside, not acknowledging Vince or Mick, or Tommy, who looks at me as if he's just seen Jesus himself.

I go straight to the kitchen and dig through drawers and cabinets for any type of over the counter meds for my throbbing fingers that are turning black and blue and swelling up.

"Uh, Hey, Vivian." Vince's flat, sarcastic voice carries to the kitchen and I slam a drawer shut. "You know you can pitch a bitch fit tantrum at your own house, right?" He asks next and I let out a loud "ha" in response.

"Can I help you?" Nikki asks me in a critical tone, leaning against the counter and I dig through the drawer by the sink.

"You have done enough." I refuse whatever he's about to offer and he sighs.