Page 21 of Lost Boy
His tone is firm, and I can respect that, but it doesn’t mean I can’t swipe a bottle for my room later.
“Got it.”
He can tell I’m in a mood and doesn’t try to joke like he normally does. I respect that too.
I leave him in my room and head for the bar in the kitchen anyway. He can’t tell me not to. I won’t drink in front of Sofie. I can agree with that.
I grab a Gatorade from the fridge and dump it, rinsing the bottle out and discreetly filling it with a little of each of Joel’s whiskeys. It’s a trick I learned from my friend Dex back in Philly. His old man would beat the shit out of him if he caught him stealing his booze, so he never gave him a chance and just took a little from each bottle. I know Joel wouldn’t do that, but I don’t need him looking at me differently. I need something to numb the pain and the memories. Something to help me sleep later.
I tuck the bottle into my oversized hoodie pocket just as Sofie walks into the kitchen.
“Hey, Fal! Do you like sesame beef or chicken?”
“Both,” I answer honestly. “I mean, either.”
She doesn’t miss a beat, and her energy is infectious. But I need to get this alcohol out of here before Ryder catches me.
“Okay. Well, let's get honey chicken. It’s similar but different. And then sesame beef. Ryder can get whatever the heck he wants. Probably something with cashews. Bleh.” She flips her glossy brown curls over her shoulder, the golden highlights catching in the light. “Oh, and I want an egg roll. You?” She turns those light green eyes on me, waiting patiently and expectantly. I’ve never had a little sister before, and this feels oddly like such.
“Yeah. Definitely. I’m starving. Thanks, Sofie.”
It’s the most I’ve given her, and she knows it. She beams from ear to ear. Her beautiful smile rivals her brother’s, but I don’t look at her the way I look at him. And it confuses me. I’ve never really been into anyone, but I didn’t think I’d be into guys when the time came. I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Do I even like girls?
Did Ieverlike girls?
Fuck. My chest feels tight, and I chew on my lip ring nervously. Now is not the time to think about this or to spiral.
Ryder walks in just then and eyes me, then the wet bar. I keep my hands in my oversized pocket, praying nothing sloshes around. I’m getting hot, my body heat rising, and my skin overheating in this hoodie and tight jeans. A light sheen of sweat breaks out across my forehead and my upper lip.
I hope he doesn’t notice.
It’s starting to feel like something is tied tightly around my neck, suffocating me.
I need a break before dinner. Need to be alone.
“Lying down for a bit. Headache,” I mumble, walking over to the fridge to grab a water bottle and head back to my room now that Ryder is out of it. I lock it behind me and press my back against the wood, exhaling a defeated breath and closing my eyes.
His face flashes before me. His friendly, kind, smiling face. And he’s so fucking handsome that I think I know there’s no dilemma at all.
I’m gay.
And I think I want Ryder Cruz.
Still overheated, I hurry to my desk and set down the Gatorade bottle of liquor. I rip my hoodie off, leaving me in my tight black Jimi Hendrix T-shirt that’s two sizes too small.
My stomach grumbles in protest, but I grab the bottle of alcohol instead. I can handle it. Sofie won’t know. I need to fill the hollowness in my chest with something, and right now, it’s this grab-bag whiskey.
The burn is unpleasant, but it always is, and at least it’s something. I drain a quarter of the bottle and cap it back, tucking it far under my bed before taking my pants off and climbing inside, letting the alcohol warm me and sleep take me.
I hear the doorbell ring but don’t move. This is the most comfortable bed I’ve been in since we had a house and Dad was alive. And that nap was not long enough. The alcohol is still making me dizzy and clouding my thoughts. I’m cozy and content now, in a numb, sleepy fog. I’m not thinking about how Uncle Joel and everything here reminds me of Dad, coupled with these newgayfeelings—
“Food’s here, dude! Chow time!” Ryder yells from downstairs, his loud, clear voice echoing off the walls in the hallway, not allowing me to miss it, even though my door is shut.
My stomach growls louder, and I know I need to eat. I really am hungry too. I whip the covers back and hop out, wavering on my feet, realizing I’m a little drunker than I thought.
Great.
