Page 47 of Hell Bent
He smiled. Just a little, but I saw it. “So how full was it?” I prompted. “Do I need to call poison control?”
“Pretty full,” he said reluctantly. “A couple of inches down. I was just trying it. I was going to fill the empty partwith water. People drink Scotch with water anyway, so what’s the difference?”
“And you thought Sebastian wouldn’t notice. Dude. He’d have noticed. Always better to own it. See, otherwise you’re drinkingandlying, whereas if you own it, you’re just drinking.”
Ben shrugged one shoulder and resumed staring at the floor, and I said, “You’ve been sick, huh.”
He nodded, then held his head like he regretted moving it. “It’s probably a migraine, because my head really hurts. Or I caught something on the plane.”
“Not even close,” I said. “This is what is known as a hangover. I take it you haven’t had one before.”
“I haven’t drunk alcohol before,” he said. “I have to take care of my mom. At least I did. I don’t anymore, so why shouldn’t I get drunk?”
The mess could wait, I decided. “Stay here,” I told him. “I’ll be right back.”
“I can’t exactly go anywhere,” he said.
I opened Sebastian’s fridge and found Gatorade, which wasn’t a surprise. After that, I searched the cupboards for crackers, but couldn’t find any. Not in the healthy-eating plan, I guessed. He did have bread, of the multigrain artisan type, so I toasted and buttered two pieces of that, filled a glass with Gatorade and ice, and steeled myself to go back into Sebastian’s bedroom.
It was an invasion of privacy to look in his medicine cabinet and bathroom drawers, but I did it anyway. I found an economy-sized bottle of ibuprofen and tipped two tablets out into my hand. I also noticed that he had a box of condoms in there. I could hardly avoid it, because there they were. “Feel everything,” the box promised. It told you some more things, too. That they were extra thin. Lubricated and ribbed “for her pleasure.” And size Large.
It was a box of thirty-six.
And it had been opened.
“Save it,” I muttered, and carried my lifesaving supplies to the back bedroom, where Ben was now lying down with his forearm over his face and Lexi’s head on his stomach. When I came in, she waved her tail a little, but didn’t get up.
“Sit up,” I said, and when they both did, I put the ibuprofen into Ben’s hand and said, “Take these with this Gatorade.”
“I can’t drink anything,” Ben said. “I’ll puke.”
“You’re dehydrated,” I said. “That’s why you feel so bad. Take it slow, but drink it. And eat the toast.”
Ben eyed the toast without enthusiasm. “My mom buys that same kind of gross bread. What’s wrong with white bread?”
“Less nutritional value. Sebastian has a diet plan. He’s a professional athlete, remember?”
“Like that’s a big deal,” Ben muttered.
“Keep sipping that Gatorade,” I said. “Keep nibbling at that toast. You’ll feel better in half an hour.” I didn’t wait to hear what he’d say next, just went out and cleaned up the kitchen and straightened the living room, then steeled myself to tackle the bathroom.
“You know what?” I said aloud. “No.” And headed back to Ben.
He wasn’t looking quite so green, and the Gatorade was half gone. His hair was messy, it looked like he hadn’t changed out of his clothes last night, and he stank. I sat beside him on the bed, though, and he didn’t object.
I considered about three openings, but decided on, “How did you like the Laphroaig?”
“Huh?” He blinked at me and kept eating toast.
“The Scotch.”
“Oh. It was gross. Tasted like dirt.”
“Yep. That’s Laphroaig. It comes from the Highlands or the Islands or somewhere like that, in Scotland. With peat bogs.”
“Huh?” he said again.
“Peat bogs. It’s some sort of decayed plant matter. They cut it into big squares, dry it out, and use it as fuel, or they used to. I believe they also burn it so the smoke gets into the Scotch, or the barley, or whatever it is. That’s what you were drinking. A peated Scotch.”
