Lottie lifts her delicate arm and pulls Stana into her. “But you’re my psycho.”
Stana grins, hugging her cousin as my mind drifts off once again.
“You okay over there?” Lottie asks me, eyes probing. I snap my attention to her, like a deer caught in headlights.
“Sorry, just distracted.”
She nods, not looking completely convinced but deciding to stay silent.
“You sure?” Stana adds in, not willing to move on like Lottie.
It’s in these moments, these small moments, that the guilt really begins to eat away at me. When I realize the rationale I used months ago to hide our relationship no longer seems to stand on its own legs. But I’m in a team now with Reeve, and disclosing our status to the girls without talking to him would be wrong.
“I’ve got that huge work project coming up. I’m just worried I’ll be behind by coming to the gig tonight.” It’s not a total falsehood, but it’s not the truth either. I don’t know when I became so good at lying, when it started becoming so natural. One thing is for certain: this isn’t who I am, and no matter how much Reeve wants to avoid it, we will be having a talk sooner or later.
“Then go home, Em,” Lottie replies, her head tilted as if asking why I would possibly come here tonight.
“I feel bad missing it.” I fidget with my hands.
“Seriously, Em, Lottie is right. The lads play here all the time. Missing one show isn’t going to hurt Ali’s feelings. He would be more upset that you put him ahead of work.”
Unsure what to say, because yet again I can’t say the truth, I just eye them both, feeling a little helpless.
“Ali!” Stana’s gaze goes over my head, clearly spotting my brother in the crowd. I close my eyes quickly before I feel a hand on my shoulder. Opening my eyes, I smile at my older brother. He returns it, his presence instantly calming me. That is, before I see Reeve walk up next to him.
“Em here is behind on work and won’t go home,” Lottie says, throwing me under the bus.
I attempt to stare daggers at her, but she looks away, not remotely fazed. Looks as if she has that aspect of motherhood down pat.
Ali turns, giving me his attention, his brow slightly raised.
“She thinks you’ll be upset if she misses the set,” Stana adds in. Great, remind me to add her to my shit list.
“Em, go home. You know I love your support, but I doubt you’ve ever missed a show. Go get your work done.” Ali’s voice is filled with warmth and sincerity, and now I feel like a dick for making him feel bad.
I’m stuck on the spot, and my gaze darts instinctively to Reeve, his expression neutral. My cheeks heat, and I feel like a child as I grab my bag, giving in and deciding to go home.
“If you’re sure,” I tell him, no longer having the guts to be around everyone after being treated like a small child.
He nods. “Of course. Plus we have Evie’s birthday breakfast tomorrow morning, and obviously you need to be there, so it’s better you miss this to get your work done.”
I nod, knowing that he’s right. Evie is like a second mother to us, and missing her birthday isn’t an option. I quickly say my goodbyes, before slipping out of Saint Street and beginning my walk to the Tube.
Forty minutes later I’m home, annoyed, and wishing I’d taken a cab. Upon opening my door, the first thing I spot is Cora sprawled across the couch, her hand in a bag of crisps while she drinks a bottle of wine. As in drinking from the actual bottle. No glass.
“I thought you’d be off with your boyfriend at his gig,” she calls out to me, mouth full of food.
Huffing, I kick off my boots and toss my bag onto the floor. I’ll pick it up later.
“Who pissed in your cereal?”
I eye her, face flat, which tells her all she needs to know. Cora and I aren’t exactly close; we’re on that good level of respecting one another while not being best friends. I mean, we have the occasional wine and chat, so there is that level of comfort. But she has yet to meet anyone in the group besides Reeve.
“It’s been a day,” I reply, my gaze drifting to the bottle of wine in her hands. She locks eyes with me, sitting up and holding it out in offering.
“I hope you have more than one bottle.”
She grins, and it’s slightly evil. It should scare me, but instead I laugh.
“This seems like a three- to four-bottle night. You’re in luck—I was just at the bottle shop.”
I laugh again before taking a gulp, and it could be petrol for all I know at this point. I’m guzzling it down so quickly the taste doesn’t matter.
Cora jumps off the couch and heads into the kitchen, where she pulls out a couple of extra bottles and pops the corks on them both.
Her long black dress sways as she walks toward me, like a vision in hell. Maybe I should ask her for a spell that can make life amazing again, but I don’t want to insult her.
“Now, tell me what happened.” She turns to me, for the first time in forever seeming genuinely interested in my woes. I hold up a hand to her, taking a few more gulps before wiping the red residue off my mouth with my forearm.
“Well, where do I begin?”
An incessant buzzing enters my brain. Face still shoved into a pillow, I flail my arm around in an attempt to silence it. Groaning, I roll over and fall straight onto the hard floor, my sleep-ridden body aching in protest.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, knowing that’s gonna bruise. But it’s the absolute agony my head is in right now that overtakes any thoughts of my side.
Attempting to sit up, I grab the table leg to heave myself into sitting position, my back resting against the couch where I am assuming I spent the night. Through a fuzzy mind and blurred images, my night in question comes back to me.
Laughing and crying to Cora while we drank three bottles of wine between the two of us… My stomach revolts at the memory, my legs suddenly having a life of their own to carry me to the toilet, where I spew all of last night out of my system. Demon screeches at my sudden movements, hiding under the nearest couch.
Fuck my life.
“You look a little worse for wear.”
I glance up and find Cora in the doorway of the bathroom, looking like she does any other day.
“How are you not dying?” I ask, ready for another round with the toilet bowl any second.
She grimaces. “I can hold my liquor, I guess.”
I roll my eyes, refocusing my attention at the toilet before flushing it. Even the lingering smell makes me want to go another round.
“I’m off, I’ll be back this afternoon. Feel better.”
Not waiting for a reply, she spins around, and her black Doc Martens carry her out of the flat.
I groan, letting my head fall against the cool marble of the bathroom floor. The buzzing that woke me up before starts again in the living room. After making sure I won’t be sick again, I take my time washing my face and brushing my teeth. Unfortunately, none of that does anything for the bags under my eyes or the small marching band playing in my bloody head.
Everything aches as I walk to the couch, then sit down to see what all the mess is about. But as soon as I see all the missed calls and the time on my phone, I know I’ve epically fucked up.
It’s past noon. Meaning I’ve not only missed Evie’s birthday breakfast, but my entire group of friends is probably searching the neighborhood to make sure I’m okay.