Hey, I’m tired. All the way down to my bones, and booze is blunting the sharp edges of reality even just for a while. I’ll take what I can.
A beer bottle slides across the bar, and Jet grabs it and takes a swig. His gaze is still on me, shrewd and maybe a bit concerned.
I can take some concern from my cousin, I tell myself, through my skin prickles and all my defenses stir like the spines of a porcupine. This is safe ground.
Relax, Rid. Drink your damn beer.
Jet huffs after a moment and takes another swig, slamming the bottle none too gently back down. “What happened?”
I shake my head and swallow hard. “Mom overdosed again.”
“Fuck. Is she okay?”
“She’s been in the hospital for the past couple of days.”
It’s the worst one yet. She may not make it next time.
The words remain unsaid, hanging between us, but I know Jet is thinking the same.
She’s as bad as a hard drug addict, and we both know it. Prescription drugs can mess you up just as badly, and she’s been on them for years. Almost since I can remember.
“Benzos?” Jet asks. “What was it this time?”
“Alcohol and Xanax, most probably. Maybe more drugs mixed together.”
A nearly deadly cocktail. I lift my beer, put it back down.
Goddammit. I should be used to this abject fear by now, the fear she won’t make it next time. Yet somehow it always gets my heart pounding like I’m the one about to die.
“Talk to me, Rid. Why is she still in the hospital? Is she awake? What did the doctors say?”
“She’s awake. A bit out of it, though. Docs said she’s lucky.” I swallow again, unable to push down the lump in my throat. “Damn lucky, but that her nine lives are almost use
d up.”
Jet curses quietly. I had to tell him this time, though. It’s not like my mom was ever like a mother to him—hell, she barely was like a mother to me and Xavier—but despite everything, my parents did take him in when his family went to hell. I kinda think he’ll never forget that.
He drinks, and I do the same, letting silence settle over us, threaded with the background din of the bar—the laughter, the voices, the music, the clink of glasses. I half-close my eyes, taking this moment to try and rebuild my defenses, one stone, one brick at a time, before I break open in front of my cousin.
But he doesn’t give me that much needed moment. Probably has no clue I’m one second from crumbling.
“How’s Xavier?” he asks, unerringly finding my weak spot and striking. “How is he taking this?”
My hand shakes as I put down the bottle. Struggle with it. “Not well,” I eventually say, surprised my voice doesn’t break down the middle.
Jet frowns. “What does that mean exactly?”
Yeah, good question. “He left.”
“Left where? The hell, Rid.”
“A friend’s house, he said.”
“What friend?”
“How the fuck would I know? He wouldn’t say. He never does.”
“Never?” His eyes narrow. “Rid, Jesus. You’re telling me this has been going on for how fucking long?”