I crave solitude, a moment of peace with myself, but I’m forced to participate in whatever my family has planned. I have no choice but to obey, left only with anger to direct at others.
I keep snorting, the thick blood clogging my nasal passages and making it hard to breathe. Rubbing my nose doesn’t help, and the breeze only adds to the discomfort, slapping my face and leisurely caressing the sticky layer of blood. It makes me want to scratch my fucking skin off, to peel away until all that’s left are my broken bones.
As I walk into the backyard, I don’t bother looking at the guests my sister dragged here. Shitty pop music blasts from the speakers, mingling with the buzz of the crowd, their clinking glasses and annoying laughter filling the space. I can feel their gazes as I enter, most of them falling silent and cutting off whatever stupid conversation they were having just a moment ago.
I definitely look like I enjoy drawing attention.
Ignoring them, I focus on the slid-open door ahead, wishing only to reach the nearest faucet and wash away this unpleasant feeling from my face. But just as I’m about to get there, Noah, one of my so-called friends, jumps in front of me, blocking the entrance to the house.
“Man, we were waiting for you,” he says, a drunken smile spreading across his face. “What happened?”
Slowly, I turn around, my eyes landing on the perfect image that fuels my anger. Chloe, my sister, perches at the edge of the pool, judgment in her eyes and a disgusted grimace twisting her face. Nearby, at one of the small round tables, sits none other than Venetia Ross with her friend Grace. Grace radiates fake concern, lifting her oversized sunglasses to look at me, the same fucking desire in her eyes that’s hard to misplace. She’s tried to get me to go out with her a couple of times and received the same answer each time, yet she never gives up.
Not that I care about her. My focus is on Venetia, whose eye contact I hold. Her disgust mirrors my sister’s, if not worse. She clutches her glass with a tattooed hand, her index finger tapping against it, making the inked snake’s head move. A golden reptile adorns her neck, the jewelry resting perfectly on her pale, aristocratic chest. She hunches her bare shoulders back in her chair, shaking her head at me like she’s my fucking mother, tired of seeing her child get beaten.
Fuck her. Fuck her friend. Fuck this party.
I shove past Noah, deliberately slamming into him as I storm into the living room, my mind a buzzing mess of thoughts.
Ineeddrugs.
In the kitchen, I find the faucet and turn on the cold water, splashing it onto my face. Once, twice, I bathe in it before I start scrubbing the blood off. Anger roils within me, bathing my insides in hot lava—an unseen force that tears at me from within. I wasn’t always this impulsive and psychotic; honestly, I don’t even remember when it all began. Sure, I got angry like anyone else, but nothing like this. Now, I can thrash the kitchen if my coffee machine glitches. It always starts with small irritations that snowball, building up until they ignite into a raging inferno.
Drugs are the only thing keeping me afloat. Under their influence, I zone out, floating somewhere far better, which helps me survive whatever new challenge life throws my way.
I groan in discomfort while washing my face, aware of the nagging pain coursing through every inch of my body. It feels like someone has burrowed under my skin, testing my patience and spreading agony through my veins—pushing the limits of what a human body can endure.
I turn off the faucet and reach for a paper towel, determined to pull off just one, but the entire roll tumbles to the floor, scattering sheets everywhere.
The universe seems to be fucking laughing at me.
As I bend down, an electric shock pulses in my body. Ignoring the pain, I grab the roll, ripping off a few sheets and crumpling them into a ball to press against my nose.
The house’s windows stretch nearly from floor to ceiling, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of someone. As I turn my head for a better look, a smile spreads across my face, despite the persistent throb of pain.
Eli Smith is outside—Venetia’s half-boyfriend, half-idiot, or as the kids call it nowadays, asituationship—with his hands buried in his pockets and his blonde hair plastered to the side in a feeble attempt to look cool. His dull-colored eyes scan the front of the house, trying to figure out how to get inside. I guess he hasn’t encountered a fucking glass door before.
An idea sparks in my chest, lifting my mood and dispelling my annoyance as if it never existed. I stride toward the front door, raising my hand to get his attention. When he spots me, a naïve grin spreads across his face.
I’ll never understand why Venetia likes to spend time with him. He’s nothing like us—a humble lawyer who wears turtlenecks on every single date they have. I know this because he always picks her up in his shitty car near the business building where we both work.
Who wears fucking turtlenecks on a date?
I slide the door wide open, stepping out to block his entrance. Eli looks at me, a puzzled expression taking over his baby face. Maybe I’m delusional, but it feels like he gets smaller every time I see him. It must be humiliating for Venetia. A tall woman like her deserves someone who’s at least six fucking feet.
“Hey, Eli. Nice turtleneck,” I mock, my voice taking on a playful edge. Forget who wears this crap on dates—the real question is, why the fuck would anyone wear it when it’s blazing outside? “What’s up?”
He swallows hard, and I can almost feel the unease slithering up his spine, making him straighten up. He’s blonde, short, dressed in a turtleneck, and on top of that, he’s a fucking coward. Not that I’m a fan of Venetia, but she deserves better. Someone who won’t shit his pants when he sees other men.
“I’m here for Venetia,” he squeaks out, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Is she here?”
I feel irritation simmering beneath my amusement as I rub my nose, my clouded mind struggling to come up with an excuse for her. “Well, she’s—” I trail off, my hands waving as if trying to start the engine in my brain. “I don’t know how to tell you this. She’s busy.”
A frown creases his brow, and he tilts his head like a confused puppy. “What? What do you mean, busy? She invited me to this party. I thought?—”
A laugh bursts from my chest, cutting Eli off mid-sentence. I raise my hand dismissively. “Sorry, man. I couldn’t hold that in. This party is for people like us, not for those who chill on van nights, you know?”
“Not quite,” he mumbles, trying to peer over my shoulder. Stubborn motherfucker. “We need to find her. She’ll confirm that she invited me.”
