“Why?”
“Because words have meaning, and your actions cheapen them.”
My grip on her hand loosens, so she takes advantage and detaches herself from me. The crack in my chest expands, revealing the emptiness within.
“Sleep it off” is the last thing she says before my bedroom door clicks shut, leaving me alone with my demons to keep me company.
Iwake up the next morning with a pounding headache and the urge to hide from Lana after last night. Unlike my father, I’m not a mean drunk, but I am a stupid one who can’t keep his mouth shut.
To make matters worse, I broke Lana’s vase and then made her clean it up afterward.
I throw a pillow over my head to muffle my frustrated groan.
You have no one to blame for your behavior but yourself.
The door to my room creaks open. I pop my head out from underneath the pillow, expecting to find Lana in the doorway.
“Hi!” Cami shouts.
My head throbs in a silent reply. “Let’s use our inside voices.”
“Sorry,” she whisper-shouts.
Close enough.“Where’s your mom?” And how do I avoid her for the rest of the day?
“Making lunch.”
Lunch already? How long did I sleep in?
“And what are you doing in here?” I sit up in the bed. I’m still wearing my clothes from last night, which look like they spent a week at the bottom of a laundry hamper.
“Mommy said you’re not feeling too good.”
My head knocks back. “She did?”
“Yeah. I heard her on the phone telling Aunt Dee you got a hang-ovary.”
I bust into laughter, although I regret it instantly with the way my head throbs. “I think you meanhangover.”
Her goofy, gap-toothed smile is slowly growing on me. “What’s a hangover?”
And this right here is the reason why I shouldn’t be allowed around kids in the first place.
I clear my throat. “It’s when people make bad decisions at night and wake up sick the next day.”
Her forehead scrunches. “Like when you eat too much chocolate and get a tummy ache?”
“Sure, kid. Just like that.” I wish my problems stemmed from eating too much chocolate. It’s far less harmful and way more enjoyable, which are two pluses in my book.
“How do you get better?”
I sigh. “I’m not sure if I ever will get better.”
“Why not?”
“Because I get sick a lot.” As sad as it is to admit.
Cami’s stare doesn’t hold an ounce of judgment. “With a hangover?”