Page 127 of Becoming Us

“Don’t you talk to me like that,” my mother said coldly.

“No. I’m done playing nice. You stay the fuck away from him unless you actually want to be a mother.”

“I’m calling your parents,” she snapped, the telltale click of her heels following as she turned to go.

“Don’t walk away from me,” Holly said, her voice rising again as their footsteps retreated.

I rolled off the bed and stood beside it, the bottle of vodka still lying there. I took another swig before pulling on my shoes.

No hesitation. No thought.

I slid out of the room and snuck around the hall, avoiding both Holly and my mother—and the hundred or so of our“closest” friends and family. I paused by the open door of my parents’ bedroom. Ilana was lying on the bed on my father’s side, curled into herself.

For a second, I almost went to her.

Instead, I kept walking.

I slipped into the office and pushed the window open, climbing carefully down the side of the house. I’d done it a million times, but it didn’t feel like sneaking out anymore. It felt like escape.

I pulled out my phone and typed:

Me

You up for company?

When the address came through, I called for a car and tucked my phone into my back pocket. I emptied the flask as I waited, swaying unsteadily on my feet. Then I turned and looked back at the house.

That’s all it was. A house.

This wasn’t home anymore.

Probably never would be again.

Ten minutes later, the car pulled up. I slipped inside without a word and let the driver take me away from this empty place.

The doorbell rang, and a second later, the door was pulled open.

River gave me a once-over, an eyebrow arched. “Aren’t you a little overdressed?” he asked with a chuckle.

He was shirtless, wearing only sweatpants. I ignored the hollow twist in my stomach and stepped inside. Music pulsed low from the speakers. An open bottle sat on the coffee table.

I dropped onto the couch and reached for a glass.

“Please, serve yourself,” he said, sitting beside me.

“Don’t mind if I do.” I poured the glass almost to the top and lifted it up to my lips. I managed to take a gulp before River pulled it from my grasp.

“Slow down, will you? You’ve clearly had more than enough.”

I leaned in closer to him. “Then what else are you offering?”

He huffed. “You’re still as charming as ever, hotshot.”

From his pocket, he pulled a plastic bag and emptied its contents onto the glass table. With practiced ease, he shaped the powder into six neat lines and handed me a rolled-up bill.

I took it without hesitation, bent down, and inhaled. The bitterness was sharp, acidic. It lit up my brain like a firework—and then dulled everything else. I did a second line and handed him the bill. Slumped back against the couch, head dangling, I welcomed the chemical drip sliding down my throat.

“Are we going out?” I asked, not really caring.