(no subject)
I.
She’s holding a bottle of Corona Lite in between her knees and picking a cigarette out of the black and pink box they come in. She holds it between her lips, fishes a lighter out of her pocket and lights up.
She’s sucking the menthol out of the cigarette, looking like a glamour model sitting there, aloof, with a square in her mouth. She’s alternating puffs of the cigarette and swigs from the beer.
This is a pattern. She’s had maybe five cigarettes and three beers in the past hour. This shit goes through her like air and water. She’s learned it takes a lot to get fucked up in her condition.
She’s surveying the crowd. It’s all the pack, and some of the imprints. Embry looks over to her, frowns a little, yells above everyone else. “Leah, maybe you want to come hang out over here with us?”
She puffs a perfect ring into the air, downs the Corona. “Fuck off, Call,” she says.
II.
It’s almost three o’clock. At least that’s what Sam is saying.
“It’s almost three o’clock. Everyone else is gone. Leah, you’re fucking drunk.” Lather, rinse, repeat.
She’s not quite sure if her death stare works as well when she’s drunker than she’s ever been in her entire life, but she still tries it.
“What the fuck, Leah. Can’t you fucking control yourself once in awhile?” Her head is spinning in three million different directions. She can taste the acid creeping up in the back of her mouth.
“I can’t believe you. Don’t you have any sense of responsibility? You’re fucking lucky Emily told me to come get you.” She turns her head to face him, tries the death stare once more. It has no effect.
He continues to berate her while dragging her along the sidewalk. Leah is telling herself to remember this moment; remember all the hard work it took to feel this way. Next thing she knows, she has vomit on the front of her shirt.
“Damn it, Leah! I’m not cleaning that up! You’re going to have to tell these people that you threw up on their sidewalk! I’m not responsible for you anymore! I’m not your father!”
Leah stops, pushes away from Sam and throws a clumsy punch at him. She lands her fist on the side of his neck, and he recoils a little.
“Fuck you, Uley! I don’t need your goddam help!” she screams, before she zig-zags back to her own house.
III.
The lights are off in the living room because her mom is sensitive to light, and if they turn it on, she’ll wake up and instantly know that Leah came home drunk, stumbling along the gravel again.
Emily is holding a cold washcloth to Leah’s face and sighing. Leah’s eyes are closed, and she’s thinking of all the things that she could say to make Emily go away right now.
“You shouldn’t do this anymore, you know. You worry your mom sick sometimes. She loves you. We all love you.” Leah groans.
“We all just want the best for you.”
Leah mumbles, “Mm-hm.”
“I wish you would take care of yourself better. I wish you would just listen to Sam, he knows what he’s talking about.”
Leah opens her eyes and swats Emily’s hand away from her face.
“And I wish you would stop touching me like we’re still friends,” she barks, jumping up from the couch.
IV.
It’s Friday night again. The pack is gathered in Jacob’s back yard to celebrate his return from Canada, or wherever the fuck he went.
Emily is glaring straight at Leah, who is trying so ridiculously hard to keep her promise to stay sober. She’s sitting on the steps, fiddling with the top of her empty pack of cigarettes.
This is a pattern. Lather, rinse…
The smell of tobacco drifts toward her, but not the kind that she’s used to. The screen door opens behind her, then Jacob is sitting down next to her.
“Square?” he asks.
Leah shakes her head. “No, I just ran out. Besides, I smoke the-“ she starts, before she sees Jake’s hand in front of her, holding out a Black and Mild. “Thanks.”
They smoke in silence for a few seconds, then Jacob grumbles, “I hate this fucking place.”
“Me too.”
Jacob puffs a perfect circle into the air. “I hate everybody at this fucking party.”
Leah’s jaw almost drops. She turns her head to face him. “No fuckin’ way.” Jacob nods, and Leah smiles smugly.
“How ‘bout a beer?” he offers, and Leah is too eager to accept.
She’s holding a bottle of Corona Lite in between her knees and picking a cigarette out of the black and pink box they come in. She holds it between her lips, fishes a lighter out of her pocket and lights up.
She’s sucking the menthol out of the cigarette, looking like a glamour model sitting there, aloof, with a square in her mouth. She’s alternating puffs of the cigarette and swigs from the beer.
This is a pattern. She’s had maybe five cigarettes and three beers in the past hour. This shit goes through her like air and water. She’s learned it takes a lot to get fucked up in her condition.
She’s surveying the crowd. It’s all the pack, and some of the imprints. Embry looks over to her, frowns a little, yells above everyone else. “Leah, maybe you want to come hang out over here with us?”
She puffs a perfect ring into the air, downs the Corona. “Fuck off, Call,” she says.
II.
It’s almost three o’clock. At least that’s what Sam is saying.
“It’s almost three o’clock. Everyone else is gone. Leah, you’re fucking drunk.” Lather, rinse, repeat.
She’s not quite sure if her death stare works as well when she’s drunker than she’s ever been in her entire life, but she still tries it.
“What the fuck, Leah. Can’t you fucking control yourself once in awhile?” Her head is spinning in three million different directions. She can taste the acid creeping up in the back of her mouth.
“I can’t believe you. Don’t you have any sense of responsibility? You’re fucking lucky Emily told me to come get you.” She turns her head to face him, tries the death stare once more. It has no effect.
He continues to berate her while dragging her along the sidewalk. Leah is telling herself to remember this moment; remember all the hard work it took to feel this way. Next thing she knows, she has vomit on the front of her shirt.
“Damn it, Leah! I’m not cleaning that up! You’re going to have to tell these people that you threw up on their sidewalk! I’m not responsible for you anymore! I’m not your father!”
Leah stops, pushes away from Sam and throws a clumsy punch at him. She lands her fist on the side of his neck, and he recoils a little.
“Fuck you, Uley! I don’t need your goddam help!” she screams, before she zig-zags back to her own house.
III.
The lights are off in the living room because her mom is sensitive to light, and if they turn it on, she’ll wake up and instantly know that Leah came home drunk, stumbling along the gravel again.
Emily is holding a cold washcloth to Leah’s face and sighing. Leah’s eyes are closed, and she’s thinking of all the things that she could say to make Emily go away right now.
“You shouldn’t do this anymore, you know. You worry your mom sick sometimes. She loves you. We all love you.” Leah groans.
“We all just want the best for you.”
Leah mumbles, “Mm-hm.”
“I wish you would take care of yourself better. I wish you would just listen to Sam, he knows what he’s talking about.”
Leah opens her eyes and swats Emily’s hand away from her face.
“And I wish you would stop touching me like we’re still friends,” she barks, jumping up from the couch.
IV.
It’s Friday night again. The pack is gathered in Jacob’s back yard to celebrate his return from Canada, or wherever the fuck he went.
Emily is glaring straight at Leah, who is trying so ridiculously hard to keep her promise to stay sober. She’s sitting on the steps, fiddling with the top of her empty pack of cigarettes.
This is a pattern. Lather, rinse…
The smell of tobacco drifts toward her, but not the kind that she’s used to. The screen door opens behind her, then Jacob is sitting down next to her.
“Square?” he asks.
Leah shakes her head. “No, I just ran out. Besides, I smoke the-“ she starts, before she sees Jake’s hand in front of her, holding out a Black and Mild. “Thanks.”
They smoke in silence for a few seconds, then Jacob grumbles, “I hate this fucking place.”
“Me too.”
Jacob puffs a perfect circle into the air. “I hate everybody at this fucking party.”
Leah’s jaw almost drops. She turns her head to face him. “No fuckin’ way.” Jacob nods, and Leah smiles smugly.
“How ‘bout a beer?” he offers, and Leah is too eager to accept.