Shit. Uncomfortable. Pointless, considering all I did after chanting that fucking Serenity prayer was introduce myself before metaphorically zipping my mouth shut. “Fine.”
White-knuckling the steering wheel, Lux sighs. “How are you?”
Shit. Uncomfortable. Pointless.“Fine.”
“Lottie.”
Mimicking the tired noise she makes, I open my eyes and lift my head from where it rests against the passenger window; where it’s been resting since I first found Lux in the driver’s seat instead of Jackson, and promptly decided pretending to be asleep the whole drive home was the mature thing to do. And it worked. She let me. But we’re home now, and the jig is well and truly up. “What, Lux?”
I’m expecting a lecture. A verbal lashing for my attitude. Literally anything but the quiet, “I’m sorry,” I actually get.
Briefly, I consider asking her to repeat herself. Until I remember that Lux, as much as she might hate the thought, is just an older version of me with slightly softer edges, so I’m probably more likely to get told to fuck off. Even the clarifying question I settle on is a little risky. “For?”
“Not picking you up the other day. That was shitty.”
It was. But something about admitting that, admitting it hurt me, feels like… I don’t know. Losing. “Was Alex really sick?”
Lux nods. “I swear, every time I send that kid to daycare he comes back with the plague.”
Okay. That’s one question answered. And the other, one I already have the answer to, but I just don’t know if I believe it. “Why’d you send that Finn guy?”
“He offered. I trust him.” Lux pauses. “He doesn't know.”
“I know. He offered me a beer yesterday.”
Lux’s swallow is audible. “Did you take it?”
“No.” The noise of relief she makes stabs at a very soft, very irritable part of me. “Wouldn't have been a big deal if I did.”
If we weren’t already parked, I think my sister might’ve slammed on the brakes so she could give me the wide-eyed, slack-jawed look that says exactly the same thing her mouth does. “Are you kidding me?”
My arms cross over my chest, defensive and protective and sullen all at once. “I don't care what you think. I’m not an alcoholic.”
“I’m sorry, where, exactly, did you spend the last hour? Where did you spend the pastmonth?”
“I only went to rehab because of you.”
“You went to rehabtwice.”
“And the first time, fine, I needed it. But I got better. I recovered.”
“Jesus, Lottie.” Lux stares out the windshield, her side profile all harsh lines, her lashes fluttering as she blinks rapidly.
When she sniffs, I frown. When she gives the poor, strangled steering wheel a break and uses the back of one hand to swipe at her eyes, I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. “Are you crying?”
She is. I see her tears, clear as day, when she shifts to pin me with her glossy-eyed stare. “I feel so fucking sad for you right now, kid. Because that kind of thinking is gonna be the death of you.”
I say nothing.
“Don’t you care?”
I don’t answer that either. I don’t flood with the instinctual, desperate urge to assure my sister that I don’t want to die. Not because I don’t want to live. I’m just… apathetic. About either scenario.
I… I don’t know. I do know, however, that hearing that wouldn’t reassure Lux in the slightest so I keep my mouth shut.
Lux sniffs a little louder. “I’m so fucking worried about you, Lottie, it makes me sick. I can’t sleep. I just stare at the ceiling and worry.”
I don’t mean to, I don’t want to, but I spit, “Sorry for the inconvenience.”