Eat? What the hell have I gotten myself into? Skye ends the call and sighs.
“Why do you need to be reminded to eat? And what did you do that could go on your record?” I ask.
“None of your business,” she snaps back.
She brushes past me, and I grab her upper arm, making her wince. I loosen my grip but keep a hold on her. I roll up her shirtsleeve and reveal a large handprint-shaped bruise on her skin. Jesus. She tugs her arm away and snatches the sleeve down. Her lower lip quivers. With a quick shake of her head, she runs to the bedroom and slams the door behind her.
I follow and knock on my bedroom door.
“It kind of is my business if you’re staying under my roof.” I sound like a damn father talking to his teenager. “I need to know what’s going on.”
She cracks open the door and looks up at me with deep blue eyes. “I understand that, but I’m not comfortable telling you shit right now. I don’t even know you.”
“We kind of bypassed the whole getting to know each other thing here, Skye.”
“Good.” She slams the door again.
Jesus Christ. I am not equipped for parenting. I can’t even take care of myself.
I go back to the kitchen and round up the liquor bottles, swigging from one as I hide the others. “I have to childproof my fucking apartment,” I mumble under my breath.
When I’ve finished my task, I flop on a chair in the living room and kick my legs up. I take another sip from the bottle of vodka before putting it beside me on the floor.
Am I going to have to be a better influence or some shit? Because I don’t think I can do that.
I pick up the bottle again, shake it, and gulp down the rest of it, letting the liquor wash over my worries.
The more the alcohol absorbs into my blood, the more memories of Emily filter through. I can’t believe she caught me in her house. I don’t think I can keep my promise to stay away. I’m not ready to sever that tie.
I will. Just not yet.