Page 82 of Habits

Three little dots appear on the screen, and I wait for him to type back.

Asshole: He’s supposed to be here for us to do something.

I reread the message over and over again, the frown on my forehead deepening.

He’s all alone in that big-ass house of his? Where is his dad?

I think back to all the times I’ve been to Andrew’s house or just around him in general. If I don’t count the brief glance at him at the charity party a couple of weeks ago, I don’t remember ever seeing his dad around.

How could he do that? Leave his son alone for Christmas? My family is fucked up, but even we spend the holidays together.

Looking out the window, I see that the snow has slowed down a bit. I tilt my head to the side, listening carefully. The house is quiet. Shortly after exchanging presents, Grandma went to her room, saying she was tired and everybody else followed suit.

I nibble at my lip, thinking.

I shouldn’t do it.

It’s insane.

Really insane.

And if somebody hears me …

I shouldn’t.

My eyes fall down to the dark screen of my phone clenched in my hand.

No, I shouldn’t …

Andrew

I walk through the dark house, a glass of whiskey in my hand, just an occasional dimmed light turned on to give the illusion that somebody is home.

Taking a slow sip from the glass, I let the liquid burn in my throat.

Well, I guessI’mhome, but to anybody looking from the outside, it would look like the house is empty.

Covered in darkness and silence.

Asphyxiating.

If it was any other day, I’d get out of here or invite somebody over. Anything to avoid this deafening nothingness.

But it’s almost midnight on Christmas Eve. There is no escape for me tonight.

I look at my phone, expecting a slight glow indicating a text message, but there is nothing. Only blackness.

Unlocking the screen, I go through Jeanette’s messages. We’ve been texting a lot lately, and I’ve actually been looking forward to our banter, hoping it would take my mind off the loneliness, only she never texted back.

My last text stares at me accusingly.

ME: He’s supposed to be here for us to do something.

I shouldn’t have said it. I should have kept my mouth shut and maybe she wouldn’t feel like she has to say something to make this better. Because there is nothing that can be said. My mom hated me so much she left me, and my dad can’t stand the sight of me, so he’d rather spend his time outside these four walls.

Leaning against the window, I take a sip of whiskey, watching the snow fall. It’s not a full-on snow storm, more like a glide of fluffy bits from the sky.

Peaceful.

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