Page 33 of Corpse Roads

LEIGHTON

CONVERSATIONS - JUICE WRLD

The bouncer gives me a rough shove. I sprawl across the pavement outside the nightclub, spitting blood. With an exasperated sneer, he leaves me to stumble to my feet.

My jeans are ripped from the fall. In my drunken haze, I can’t feel the pain of my busted nose. Some dickhead clocked me right in the face for running my stupid mouth, like usual.

“Fighting again, stretch?”

Diablo smokes a cigarette, standing on the street corner. I stagger over, attempting to remain upright. The whole world is spinning with the litres of alcohol in my veins.

“You seem surprised,” I drawl.

“You wanna watch yourself. They’ll throw you back in the slammer for that shit.” Diablo claps me on the shoulder. “You’ve only been out for a couple of months.”

“Still doesn’t feel like returning home.”

“Never will again. You come to see those bars as more than brick and mortar,” he says, blowing a smoke ring. “I did, anyway. Family means more on the inside than out. You feel me?”

“I have family out here. They don’t give a damn whether I’m in or out of prison. Nobody wants to help the family fuck-up.”

“Now that ain’t true, is it?”

Diablo shouts a taxi down and shoves me in the back, handing off a stack of notes to the driver. He knows my address from previous drunken nights.

Hunter would hang, draw, and fucking quarter my delinquent ass if he knew that. Me and Diablo have become friends after we both got out of prison recently. He understands me a little too well.

I dip in and out as the miles race by. The imposing shadow of my new home welcomes me when the taxi pulls up on the curb. He keeps all of Diablo’s money, shoving my drunken ass out with a curse.

By some miracle, I make it to the front gate without falling over and lean in for a retinal scan to allow me inside. Hunter has a stick up his pompous rear end about security.

The rising dawn offers some light as I scratch around, finally unlocking the front door. I have to abandon my beer-stained shoes before clambering upstairs. Everyone must be fast asleep.

Blindly heading for my bedroom, I undo my belt and rip my sweaty shirt over my head. I could sleep for a thousand years after far too many vodka shots and drunken dares. The last girl’s lipstick is still smeared on my neck.

Fuck me, she was hot.

Almost worth the right hook.

Eyes already shut, I collapse on the bed with a groan. My head hurts something fierce. Rather than blissful silence, there’s a strange squeak before the light slams on.

It quickly escalates into a full-blown, blood-curdling scream. The sound lances through my head like a fucking bayonet.

“ENZO!”

Rolling over, I faceplant on the floor with a grunt. The screaming gets louder and louder, reverberating around the room with soul-sucking terror.

“Harlow!”

There’s a thud as the bedroom door slams back open and a bare-chested Enzo arrives like a bat out of hell. Lucky is hot on his heels, her teeth drawn back in a threatening grimace.

“Leighton!” he yells, spotting me on the floor. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”

“Trying to find my goddamn bed,” I shout back.

“This isn’t your room!”

He approaches the bed, his hands outstretched in a soothing manner. The screaming has died down into a gasping whimper that stabs me in the heart.

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