Page 64 of Bitter Poetry

This is fucking destroying me, but I know I have to go.

So finally, I do the right thing, rake a hand through my hair, straighten out my suit as best as I can, and step outside the door.

Her sister sends me a wary look and then charges past me into the room.

Christian was standing right behind her. Leon is approaching from the left.

A group of women spill out of another powder room fifty paces away on the other side of the corridor.

“Let’s go,” Christian says.

“Go?”

I turn back to the door. “I need to check if she's okay.” What the fuck is wrong with me leaving her like this?

“Not fucking happening,” Leon says, homing in on us. He throws an arm around my neck and all but hauls me down the corridor. “We’re going home. You’re getting drunk. Hopefully, tomorrow, we’re not all dead.”

The drive is a blur. I mentally swing between a full-blown rampage and common sense. Leon drives, and Christian sits in the back.

Glancing over at me, Leon pulls a flask out of his jacket pocket and shoves it at me. “Drink it.”

I do.

All of it. It burns a path down my throat and churns in my gut.

“What the fuck have I done?”

Christian snickers in the back.

I swing around and lurch for the gap between the front seats, ready to beat the shit out of my brother. My seatbelt brings me to an abrupt halt. I fumble with the release.

“Woah!” Leon shoves me back into my seat, the car swerving as he does. “Chris, wind it down a notch. I can’t fucking believe you encouraged him to do this.” He keeps hold of a fistful of my shirt and uses it to pin me to the seat. I’m still wrestling to undo the seatbelt.

The tires screech as Leon swings into the parking garage of my apartment complex, the momentum tossing me back into my seat.

“His parking bay is the last one on the left,” Christian offers helpfully.

Leon throws the car into the parking space and slams on the brakes. I’m still wrestling with the damn seat belt clip and, finally, shove my door open and stumble out.

Christian exits next to me.

I slug him in the jaw before Leon can round the vehicle and wrap me in a bear hug.

“Fuck me, your side of the family got all the crazy genes,” he growls.

“I don’t know what he’s so riled up about,” Christian pitches back. “He wanted it. I made it happen. He should fucking thank me.”

“Made it happen?” Leon repeats, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Are you out of your damn minds? ... Don’t answer that.”

The fight goes out of me. “I need another drink.”

“First sensible thing you’ve said.” Leon turns me around and directs me toward the elevator bank.

Christian gives me a wary look as the door encloses us in a small space. My knuckles are aching, and my head is pounding.

The door opens, I step out, then turn around and try to go back in. “Jesus, I can’t just leave her there. What the fuck was I thinking?”

They move to block my path. I’m full of belligerent anger, but they manhandle me into my apartment, where Leon shoves me onto the couch and Christian dumps a bottle of whiskey into my hands.