Page 105 of Faux Real
She fucking hates me.
At least we have that in common. I hate me too.
My phone vibrates in my hand, my brother’s face popping up on the screen.
“Freddie?” I ask, clearing my throat, trying to sound less mangled. “Fred, what’s wrong?”
“So?” Freddie squeals. “Did you win the contest last night? Did you?”
“Uh—” I stammer, unable to remember. How much did I drink? “Uh, the results aren’t in yet, Fred. I’ll uh—know later today.”
“Oh,” Freddie hums, the excitement in his tone vanishing. “Well, call me when you find out, yeah?”
“For sure,” I rasp, looking around for a water bottle. “I will.”
“You okay, Ollie?” Freddie asks. “You sound a bit sick or something.”
“I’m fine,” I say, reaching for a random bottle of beer and taking a sip to soothe the dryness in my throat. “Just woke up is all.”
“You sure?” he asks. “You sound a little sad to me. Did you lose the contest, and you don’t want to tell me? I won’t be disappointed, I promise, Ollie. You can tell me the truth.”
“The truth?” I murmur, closing my eyes and expelling a long sigh. “You want the truth, Fred?”
“Of course,” he says. “You always say it’s best to be honest, right Ol?”
“I do say, don’t I?” I muse.
“So? What is it?”
“The truth, Fred,” I say, clenching my jaw. “The truth is Iamsad. I’m fucking devastated actually.”
“Because you lost?”
“I did lose something important,” I say, taking another sip of flat beer. “But it wasn’t the contest.”
“I’m confused,” Fred says. “What are you talking about?”
“A girl, Freddie,” I say. “I’m talking about a girl.”
“A girl? Oh,” Freddie muses. “How did you uh—lose her?”
I scoff at myself. “I fucked up and did something very stupid.”
“What did you do?”
“I got drunk, Fred,” I sigh. “I got drunk, and I hurt her feelings.” Pausing, I add, “I hurt them badly.”
“Oh,” Freddie hums. “Well, that’s okay, Ollie. Just say sorry and she’ll forgive you.”
I let out a cynical laugh. “I wish it were that easy, but I don’t think sorry’s going to cut it.”
“Why not?” he asks. “It always works for Dad.”
My entire body tenses as if my blood turned to stone. “What?” I whisper. “What did you say?”
“I said it always works for Dad,” Fred repeats himself. “Because when he gets drunk and hurts Mum’s feelings, she always forgives him, right? So this girl will forgive you. You just need to buy her some flowers and say you’re sorry.”
“I’m not Dad,” I grunt, my heart beating rapidly. “I’m not Dad, Fred!”
