I let myself be directed farther into the offices that smelled faintly of lemon and mostly of Heath.
“Non-stupid questions are good,” I murmured, my words distant from me as if they were coming from underwater.
I idly wondered if I was having a mental breakdown. I shouldn’t have been surprised. My family likely wouldn’t be either. They probably had brochures for all sorts of places ‘just in case.’ I hoped they were by the ocean. Or on a ranch. That would be nice.
We were in Keltan’s office while I was thinking about the different retreats I could go to, to comfortably break down. Only wealthy people had the luxury to go crazy, and I was wealthy now and I’d just had my sanity stepped on by a man who barely blinked at me—though I deserved that—where was my cab?
“Wanna get drunk?” Keltan asked instead of asking me if I wanted to commit myself or have him do it.
I blinked again.
He was holding up a bottle of whisky.
I hated whisky.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I replied without hesitation.
“Keltan! What is this?” Lucy demanded from somewhere...upward.
“This is your beloved husband and your beloved sister, do you need to get your eyes tested?” a low and rumbling voice replied.
“You need to fucking get your head tested if you think that is an appropriate response,” she snapped. “Really? You think that after not seeing my baby sister in a year, that this is the kind of reunion I’d want?”
Her voice was still upward, and I was still moving. Floating. Flying.
It was nice, I decided.
How cool would it be if I could fly?
“Well, I know this isn’t ideal,” Keltan said from above me. From what I could hear, he wasn’t slurring his words, like at all. And he was still standing, carrying me if I wasn’t in fact, flying. He’d drunk more whisky than me.
A lot more.
“How do they breed you in New Zealand?” I slurred. “Do you just get weaned off breast milk then straight onto whisky?”
A chuckle. “No, sweetheart, we go onto beer first, we don’t get the hard stuff until we’re at least able to walk and talk. After kindergarten.”
“Keltan!” Lucy hissed. “You’re not allowed to chuckle. Nor are you allowed to get my little sister this drunk. Not when I can’t get that drunk too. I’m pregnant. You made me this way. I can’t drink because it will stunt our child’s growth.”
A large thread of joy tangled through my drunk mind at my sister’s words. But she wasn’t drunk. Nor did she sound joyful.
“So it stands to reason I should be doing the drinking for you also. You’re eating for two. I’ll drink for two. A good compromise,” Keltan decided.
We were still moving. How big was Keltan’s apartment?
I wasn’t as sure I liked flying anymore. I was reasonably certain if I kept doing it much longer I’d throw up on Keltan, Lucy, or the floor of the apartment. And Lucy would so not be happy about that. Well, she wouldn’t be happy about the latter two. Right now, it sounded as if she wouldn’t mind me puking on her husband.
“A compromise is you sleeping on the sofa since my drunk and near comatose little sister is going to be in the guest room,” she snapped.
Thankfully, we must’ve been in this mystical guest room and I was on the mystical bed. One I hopefully wouldn’t throw up on.
“Thanks for the flying lesson, Keltan, but I don’t think I’m suited for it,” I muttered.
Another chuckle.
“Don’t you fucking laugh,” Lucy hissed. “Did you give her acid?”
“Jesus, no. Just whisky.”
“That’s worse!” Lucy exclaimed
“How is whisky worse than an A-Class drug?” Keltan asked, sounding amused and not at all drunk.
How could that be?
I knew he was close to inhuman because of everything I’d heard, but this was something else.
“It’s worse because she’s Polly and she doesn’t believe in whisky.”
“But she believes in acid?”
“She’s Polly.”
It wasn’t entirely untrue. I was Polly.
And when I was really trying to figure myself out, I’d tried the stuff that everyone told me was a spiritual experience. Obviously nothing like heroin or anything that was going to ruin my life. I didn’t do anything now, of course. But I had to say yes before I knew that I wanted to say no.
A slight tug at my ankles and the thumping of shoes hitting the floor caught my attention.
“Are these Rosie’s?” Lucy asked. “I’ve been looking for these to steal for like an age. I’m glad you didn’t vomit on them because I’m stealing them.”
“Stealing is wrong,” I muttered.
“Ah but day drinking with my husband instead of coming to visit me is totally and utterly fucking right,” she returned dryly. She didn’t sound mad. Not really. This was just another classic Polly move. She didn’t get mad at Polly moves. She was used to them. It was why she loved me.
Or maybe she loved me in spite of it.
Whatever.
There was warmth and a soothing smell of lavender and Lucy’s perfume as something soft and snuggly settled over top of me.
I sighed in relief.
I knew opening my eyes would result in the room spinning and then me likely throwing up, so I reached my hand toward where I guessed Lucy was.
A warm and dry hand circled mine.
“Lucy,” I said, only slurring a little.
“Yes, Pol,” she replied, her voice soft.
“I’m very happy to be here, to be safe with you. And I’m very much happy to be an aunt. I promise I won’t feed the kid whisky or beer.”
“Strictly acid?” she deadpanned.
I smiled. And it was a real one. Not even a grimace or anything.
“I love you,” I murmured.
“I love you too, my little bug,” she replied, squeezing my hand. And then there was a nice sensation on my forehead as she kissed it and brushed the hair away.
“I love Keltan too,” I sighed.
“Oh, you might want to wait until the morning until you commit to that,” she said, smile in her voice.
“No, I know it all now. Even though I can’t properly love anymore because I’m all ruined. I’ve got you guys.”
There was a silence that may have meant more, meant a lot more if I was sober. But I wasn’t, so I just sighed again and promptly passed out.
“Good morning, sunshine,” someone screamed in my ear.
I flinched but kept my eyes closed.
“Ugh,” I said in response, even the small noise causing pain to radiate throughout my skull.
My mouth tasted like something had died inside of it, and my stomach felt like I’d eaten something dead and decomposed.
But no, just whisky.
On an empty stomach and a broken heart.
“Hold your hand out,” Lucy yelled.
Or maybe she didn’t yell and maybe it just seemed like it because breathing was the equivalent of a dull roar radiating from my lungs to my throbbing brain.
I weakly did so, my eyes squeezed shut.
Two small objects landed in my palm.
“Put them in your mouth,” Lucy commanded. “Not something I’d ever thought I’d say to my baby sister,” she added on what was supposed to be a murmur but worked as a screech.