Becca and I arranged to have dinner at Jake's place, something to both pass the time and also check in to make sure he's okay. When we got there, we found that his little sister had decided to join us, too. It was a nice surprise, we don't see Ava often anymore now that she's growing up, but when we do—it's never quiet. Becca and I sit opposite Jake and his sister on the L shaped couch he loves so much and catch up.
I check my watch and realise it's almost time to eat, and judging by the mouth watering smell that's emanating from his kitchen, the food is almost ready. Jake is an amazing cook, he sells himself short.
"I know, I know," I scrunch up my nose. "I need to learn to think before I speak."
"At least you're not as bad as Jake's girlfriend." Ava rolls her eyes.
I raise my brow in her direction. "You don't like Angel, either?" I ask. Intriguing.
"Are you kidding?" she scoffs, grabbing a pillow from beside her and placing it on her lap.
I let out a laugh. "I heard you beat her up," she smirks, tapping her fingers on the edge of the pillow. "This is why you're my favorite."
"Hey!" Becca scoffs offendedly.
"I didn't beat her up," I correct her, trying to think how to word this. "It was just... an altercation." my voice grows higher. Not the best example for the younger generation, Amara.
"Nice." she grins.
"Ava, stop it." Jake snaps, his eyes flickering between her and I.
"Sorry." she apologises, before sending a not-so discrete wink our way.
The door clicks open and Mason's voice fills the hallway outside of the room. "He literally never knocks," Jake sighs, pressing his finger tips to his temple.
As he walks into the room a collective gasp escapes all of us, our eyes clinging to the bruised eye and burst lip he has. I make my way over to him to get a closer look, examining the wounds gently. "What the hell happened?!" I ask.
He winces as my fingers connect with the bruise. "It's nothing," he groans, lowering my hand. "Just some drunk on the street."
"Jeez, I don't even want to think about what he must look like right now." Jake takes in a sharp breath, a wide eyed expression on his face.
"Yeah." Mason sighs.
I slap him on the arm with a knitted brow. "Uhm, ow!" he scoffs. "What the hell was that for?"
"Whatever happened, you probably provoked him." I smirk.
He goes to object, but then stops himself and takes a deep breath. "Whatever." he rolls his eyes.
"She's probably right." Ava laughs.
Mason's eyes move to her and he crosses his arms. "Shut up, peanut."
"Stop calling me that!" she whines with a scowl.
"Peanut?" Becca furrows her brow, asking the question on both of our minds. Mason isn't one for nicknames, never has been.
"Yeah, when she was younger her head used to be shaped like a peanut."
I flash him a glare which only makes the smirk on his face grow. Of course, unless they're offensive nicknames. "Mason, don't be a dick." I groan.
"That's it," he holds up his hand. "Put a dollar in the swear jar."
"The what?"
"You've been swearing so much more than you used to." he wags his finger in my face like a father telling off his child.
"Because you're frustrating, and I'm not a child." I sigh.
"True." he grins proudly.
I follow Mason's eye-line to Becca, who sits wide eyed on the couch—her head cocked to the side as she watches us. "What?" he presses.
She snaps out of her daze. "Sorry, I'm still getting used to seeing..." she motions her hand over us. "—This, again." her nose scrunches.
"Does that mean you don't hate me anymore?" Mason grins, making this the perfect opportunity to tug on the friendship they used to have.
She pauses and rolls her eyes. "You're getting there." joined by a reluctant nod.
"Oh—come on, Rebecca!" he throws his hands up. "Remember just how much you liked me before."
"You're pushing it in the wrong direction, buddy." she raises her brow.
"Right." he laughs.
I turn to Jake. "Do you have any—"
"Above the sink." he finishes.
I nod and motion for Mason to follow me, resulting in a stubborn sigh and crossing of the arms. "Amara, I'm fine."
"Mason."
He rolls his eyes, giving in easier than expected and following me into the kitchen. I struggle to reach the cupboard, but don't dare ask Mason for help—he's not the only stubborn one.
I knock the tube of Neosporin off of the shelf and Mason catches it in his hand. He pulls his phone from his back pocket and attempts to use the camera as a mirror, trying to balance it to see his wound as he unscrews the cap.
"Give me that." I groan, taking the tube and squeezing a small amount onto my finger tips. He hesitates as I inch closer, and closes his eyes momentarily as I apply a thin layer over the cut. I know it must hurt.
I adjust my head and place my free hand on his chest to balance myself, to which he winces under my touch. I take a small step back from the unexpected show of pain and bring my hand to his shirt. As I attempt to lift it up his hand grips my wrist tightly. "No." he tells me calmly.
"What the hell did that guy do?" I ask, his grip loosening and my hand falling back to my side.
"Nothing," he raises his brow, bringing his hand to his back. "I'm just sore from that stupid fucking hotel bed."
"You should look for an apartment." I tell him as I throw the tube back up to it's place, luckily, it stays there.
"I am."
"Good." I nod, both of us making our way back to the living room.
He's different since he came back, and really, I guess it makes sense. He's never been one for bright colours—but since he's been back I've never seen him wear anything besides black, dark grey on one occasion; it must be a habit he's stuck in from Italy.
"Well, I only came here to annoy Jake but it looks like he's busy—I'll come back another time." he shrugs with a light chuckle.
"You can stay, you know." Jake tells him.
"Nah, its okay," he shifts his weight with a small smirk. "I don't wanna be around all these women anyway."
A discrete frown works it's way onto my face as he leaves, because I know that behind his catty remarks and humour he just feels out of place here—with our old friends. He's not comfortable. He doesn't think he belongs.
—————
As we say our goodbyes to Jake and his sister I offer Becca a ride home, since we arrived together. I feel so full from the meal Jake made that I could burst, I can't wait to get home and just relax.
"So, you're really friends with Mason again?" she asks curiously.
"I am, we're trying."
"Is it weird?"
"A little." I shrug. A large understatement.
I haven't told Becca about the kiss. It's not that I don't want to—I really, really do. We're a close group, and I don't think for a second that she would judge me, but I can't forget that Elijah is also part of this group. I can't put her in a position where she has to keep things from him, and choose sides.
It's silent for a moment, and I keep glancing at her from the side of my eye, the topic now playing on my mind.
"How is he?" I ask quietly.
I watch her lips curl into a slight frown. "I don't know," she admits. "He hasn't spoken to me about it, or Jess. He knows we're close to you. Maybe Jake would know?"
I shake my head. "No. Jake is Mason's closest friend right now, he wouldn't talk to him."
I feel a pit in my stomach knowing that Elijah has nobody to talk to. Our whole friend group is so tight knit that we can share everything with one another, but when something like this happens—between two of the five, we don't discuss it, it's not fair. I know he met some people at work, and I'm praying that he at least found someone to talk to about it. I want to reach out, but I know it's a bad idea. And despite having the right intentions, selfish.
"Its not your fault, you know," she adds as if reading my mind. I've heard that before. "Elijah knew from the beginning that he wasn't the one for you, he just loved you so much that he didn't care how it would turn out as long as he had you in the moment."
I bite my lip. "That really sounds like my fault," a small laugh escapes my lips. Everybody keeps telling me the same thing, and I know that it's true. But it's just not as simple as that. "I know not all of it is on me, but some of it is."
"What I mean is, he knew what he was getting into. You warned him off for almost a year, Amara. But he didn't give up. You told him from the start you weren't able to love him like that, but he wanted to be with you anyway. A part of both of you, deep down, always knew you weren't made for each other—you knew it wouldn't last, but not all feelings do. That's just life."
I stop the car outside of her house and flash her a grateful smile. "I love you."
"Love you too." she kisses my cheek as she gets out.
After closing the door, she opens it again and sticks her head inside. "And don't you dare think about cancelling on our group dinner next week! I will drag you there if I have to."
"Wouldn't dream of it." I roll my eyes with a laugh, knowing she would do exactly that without hesitation.
As I start to drive away my mind falls back to the dinner. In all honesty, I had completely forgotten about our monthly plans. The first one where Elijah and I are broken up. The thought of it makes my stomach turn. That should be fun.
Just as I begin to drive away my phone buzzes from my pocket. I furrow my brow as I read the number calling. "Hello?"
"Miss Woods, It's Lucas from the centre—are you free to come down here? We have something we want to discuss with you."
I get an immediate bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Is my mom okay?"
"She's fine," he tells me. "When can you get here? We'd much rather discuss it in person."
"I'm in my car just now, I'll be there in ten minutes."
I drive there as fast as the speed limit permits me—and a little more. My head is bursting with thoughts, I've never been called down there before. Even during the difficult times, I've never been called down there.
As I arrive I'm greeted by two members of staff who give me a pitiful smile and usher me into a room with little explanation. The room is long and for the majority, empty. At the other end sits my mom on a seat with a blanket wrapped around her, her eyes red from crying and still brimming with tears. I feel my heart sink and hurry over to her.
I wrap my arms around her tightly and she sinks into my chest. "What the hell happened?"
"Miss Woods-"
"Amara," I correct the woman. "It's Amara."
She takes a small breath in. "Amara, we found this under your mother's bed." his lips tighten as he holds a bottle of half empty vodka in his hand. I feel my stomach drop and for a second I feel like I may just throw up.
"I didn't drink it," she holds me at arms length, shaking her head profusely. "I promise, Amara. I didn't."
The voice from the other end of the room interrupts. "A setback like this prompts us to activate the new three month plan from-"
I hold up my hand to silence her. "Can I speak to my mom alone, please?"
She looks to the man who I assume is Lucas, the one who called me in the first place. They seem to send each other an unsure glare before exiting the room and leaving me alone with her.
I stand up from my seat, in front of her, before crouching down to look her in the eye. "Why?" I ask, trying to hold myself together.
"Amara, it's not mine. I promise it's not mine." she repeats over and over.
I close my eyes and take in a breath, the phrase taking me back to a place I haven't been in a while now. I've heard it so many times before.
"So, a bottle of alcohol is found in your room and, what? It just got there on its own?" I raise my brow.
She wipes under her eyes and makes me look at her. "Not just alcohol, Amara, vodka," she whines. "I don't drink vodka! You know that. It was half full and I haven't drank, I haven't! They check our rooms every night. I promise I haven't been drinking, you can breathalyse me! I'm not drunk. I'm not! I wouldn't be so stupid to hide it under the bed, I know better!" she rambles on frantically, desperation for me to believe her seeping through every word.
I break my eyes from hers and start to think. The more I think about it, the more off it seems. My mom had been an alcoholic since I was a toddler—she really does know better than to hide it under the bed. Someone who didn't know any better could've searched our house and never found a drop of alcohol. But me, I knew where to look. I knew to look at the mini travel bottles taped to the inside of her bed frame. I knew to look under the floorboard in the bathroom that came loose when I was a baby. I knew to look in the vents, in the perfume bottle that never seemed to get any emptier, under the sink with the cleaning fluids. I knew better. And she knows better.
"I'll be right back."
I exit the room to the three standing outside of the door patiently waiting for me to leave. "I want her breathalysed." I tell them with crossed arms.
"What?"
"The bottle only appeared today?" I raise my brow.
"Yes."
"Half empty? Wasn't there last night?"
"Yes."
"Then she would have alcohol in her system. She would be drunk. I suggest you prove it to me." I shrug.
"Miss Woods," one woman sighs, placing her hand on my shoulder. "You aren't thinking clearly. We are. I know it can be difficult to believe she would succumb to the urges again, but—"
"Don't you dare patronise me," I scoff. "I have dealt with this since I was a child, I know what to expect. But I'm telling you that is not what she looks like intoxicated. That is not where she'd hide it, and that is not a lying woman in there. And for the record, it's Doctor Woods—so either you prove to me that she's drunk, or I'll take her to my hospital and check her blood alcohol levels myself."
All three have wide eyes and are unsure what to say by the end of my speech. They look between one another once more before she opens her mouth. "I'll see what I can do."
"Yeah, you do that." I shake my head.
As I grew older, I barely had trouble standing up for myself as it is. But having to boss around and yell at my interns for the past month or so has certainly helped me find it easier to speak my mind—sometimes, it's not so great, but for times like this, it's perfect.
I walk back into the room, closing the door behind me without a whisper amongst the three. I take a seat beside my mom and wipe a tear from her cheek. "It's not mine, Mar." she purses her lips.
I pull her into my chest." I know, I believe you. And I'll get to the bottom of it."