“Jesus, you look like shit,” she says.

I ignore her comment, because I know she’s right. No point agreeing with her. “Whatya watching?”

“Stand By Me.”

“Huh?”

“You know, Stand By Me, as in classic 80s movie? You know, with River Phoenix?”

“Oh, right,” I say, as if I know. Maybe I’ve seen bits and pieces. Who the fuck knows?

I unlace my black Doc Martens, kick them off and sit on the opposite couch to her. When I shuffle to get comfortable, there’s a fat kid on screen drinking a bottle of castor oil. Have I seen this?

It’s not like growing up I had family movie nights at home. Dad was usually passed out in the shed after drinking himself stupid for the day, and Mum worked night shift. It was just V and me. For the most part we kept our noses clean, otherwise our bare arses would become acquainted with Dad’s belt. It didn’t take much for him to lose his temper. I knew when to stay clear of him; V, on the other hand, I had to keep on a short leash because the cocky son-of-a-bitch would have been flogged every day if I didn’t look out for him.

Dad had mellowed out over the years, probably due to the fact that early Alzheimer’s had set in. Thank Christ for that. His home was drinking in the shed, tinkering with bikes.

When we were around, we helped Mum in the garden and around the house, but in the kitchen was the place I liked best. God, I miss the old woman. I miss her sweet smell, her crooked smile and her hugs. For a short arse, the woman gave good hugs. She was the only one who made living in that house bearable.

“I love this part,” Suds says, her eyes glued to the screen. The kid devours pie after pie. Then, he stands and pukes in a guy’s face, the purple liquid riddled with berries coming out like water from a fire hose.

“Jesus Christ!” I call out, half covering my eyes but unable to completely look away.

“What? It’s hilarious! You don’t find that funny?” she says through a chuckle.

I don’t do vomit. I can’t handle that shit—mine or anyone else’s. “That’s fuckin’ crook. Speakin’ of crook, what’s that smell? Something around here smells like old feet.”

“Well lucky for you I don’t have a foot odour problem.” She passes me a paper bag, which was tucked into the couch beside her. “I made popcorn.”

“I guess that explains it.”

“What did you have for dinner?” I ask her, noting the absence of dirty dishes on the coffee table.

“Popcorn. Noodles for dessert.”

“Popcorn is not fucking dinner.”

“It is in my world.”

“Well in my world, it’s far from it. Jesus, do I have to force feed another steak into you?”

“Tonight I felt like popcorn. Is that okay with you, Daddy?”

“Daddy?’ I ask, eyes wide.

“Yeah, Daddy.” She gets up and moves to the kitchen. As I munch on some popcorn, I get a sneak at the dimples at the base of her spine and a hint of arse crack. She pulls up her pants, which seem loose around her waist. Has she lost more weight? Surely not.

Suds approaches me with two glasses of water, even though I hadn’t asked for one. She sits them on the table, and I nod as she takes a handful of popcorn, my own mouth too stuffed to be able to speak.

Unable and unwilling to move, I decide it’s easiest not to protest about what we’re watching, and I just go with it. I melt back into the couch, and let the calm wash over me as I watch these four boys take some weird-arse journey. I can’t remember the last time I did something so normal. I guess this is what people do. I’m sitting and watching a movie … and I’m doing it with a chick and not drinking.

Weird.

“Gimme some skin,” one young guy says to the other. They wipe their outstretched palms against each others.

“That’s like the best line ever,” Soph says, and sighs.

“Yeah, it’s pretty fuckin’ cool.”

“When I have a kid, it’s gonna be cool.” Her gaze doesn’t shift from the screen.

Suds wants a kid?

****

When I wake, the room is only lit up from the light streaming from the TV. The sound is turned down, and I can tell from the images of the fruit blender they’re trying to sell that it’s late. Fucking hate infomercials. Suds is gone. I don’t even remember saying good night to her. Guess I passed out. I was probably riveting company.

I sit up and peel my back from the leather couch. I’m sweating like a whore in church. My entire body is trembling.

It’s the drink. I’ve been overdoing it, and now I need more.

I wipe the drool from my mouth and stumble into the kitchen, flicking on the light with my open palm. Somehow, a bottle of tequila and a shot glass end up in my hands.

Maybe just one shot will take the edge off.

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SOPHIE

At some stupid hour, my body decides it’s time to pee. That’ll teach me for trying to drink the recommended two litres of water intake. Who can drink that much, seriously? Imagine how I’ll be when I’m pregnant. From what I’ve read, women have to pee all the time because of the pressure on the bladder.

When I come out of the bathroom, flashes of light coming from the lounge room draw my attention. Surely he’s not still up?

I flick on the hall light, which casts more light into the room and onto Rocco’s upper body. He’s flat on his back, with one arm and a leg hanging off the lounge.

I go to collect the empty tequila bottle and the shot glass to take to the kitchen, but I decide to leave it there. I want him to wake up and be reminded of the choice he made last night. Instead, I go to my room and take my knitted grey woollen blanket off the bed, the one Nana made me. Kneeling down beside him, I lay the fabric over him, tucking his outstretched arm across his chest and moving his fallen leg beside the other.

He was tired as anything when I left for bed. How did he go from that to feeling the need to get tanked again? Did I have to send him to his room to save him from himself?

My heart sinks. Whatever it is that haunts him, this is how he copes with it. Is it the death of his parents that plagues him or something else?

“Why do you do this to yourself?” I whisper, as I smooth the fabric over his shoulders. I take a close look at the dark circles beneath his lashes, and the tiny lines at the sides of his eyes. The wrinkles across his brow he seems to constantly wear have disappeared. At least in sleep his worries temporarily disappear.

I brush the long strands of dark hair off his forehead and tuck the blanket under his chin.

“Hey,” he croaks, causing me to sit back on my heels.

“Hey,” I whisper.

He slides the blanket down to his waist and reaches for my hand. His fingers seek out mine, and I let them weave together with mine. A shiver runs through me. I really should’ve put something warmer on, but then again I didn’t expect to be sitting on the hardwood floor at stupid o’clock.

“Do you care about me?” His words are sincere, and it takes me aback. Where in the hell has this come from? Is it because I put a blanket over him?

“It’s just a blanket.”

“It’s not the fucking blanket,” he huffs. “Why did you ask me before why I do this? You must give a shit if you’re prepared to ask.”

“Well, I guess I do care. I’m not an animal, you know,” I say and roll my eyes.

“I know you’re not. You think you’ve got everyone fooled, but know there’s more to you. You’re afraid to show it.”

“So what if I am? There’s nothing wrong with self-preservation.”

“Why do you care?”

“The truth?”

“Yes.”

“I hate seeing you like this, Rocco. I hate seeing another person destroy themselves or their chances at being something better.”

“Ha. I hate to tell you, Suds, but this is my life. And I don’t see it improving any time soon.”