33 | Ginger Ale

This might be the last time I'll be stepping in here.

Gently letting my finger caress the wall beside me as I walked, I headed from the door to the kitchen. My goal was 'stealthily' take the things in my possession from this house, particularly from Jackson's bedroom. I had left clothes in there, plus various whatnots.

I had rushed out of school right away so that I wouldn't catch Jackson in the house and avoid the tension. I also had hoped Brennan wasn't home yet. Just a smooth in and out and the Dales didn't need to worry about me anymore.

Wish not granted when I stopped near the kitchen opening, hearing voices.

I waited and pressed myself flat against the wall. Crap, how did Jackson get here before me? And Brennan? And why did they have to be inside the kitchen?

I decided not to leave and listen for a while. It sounded like they were shouting at each other. This could be good.

" . . . How could you do that to her?" Brennan burst out, "She's my little sister and you broke her heart!"

"She lied to us. How could you still see her the same way? It could've been all an act!" Jackson retorted back. That hurt, man.

"An act?" Brennan scoffed, "All of that was an act? Do you even hear yourself? Why are you so angry anyway?"

There was no joking around. It was serious if Brennan was pissed.

"I don't know what you mean." I imagined Jackson looking away from his brother because he was lying. Lying liar.

"Why are you so mad at her? You're even angrier than Dad and he doesn't even fully blame her for it? Why?"

Since that day, I haven't heard anything from Maira or Walter, but it was pretty clear that I was fired. They're not going to be that merciful. I only guessed they were both too busy supporting the company. But I made me feel guiltier that Walter wasn't all out vengeful towards me.

And I haven't even seen Brennan until now. It hurt me to think that he was angry at me, but I felt relieved knowing that he was irritated by what his brother did. Brennan had done many idiotic and reckless things, and each time I never left him or really hated him - especially when he broke Montana.

He was doing the same for me now.

Jackson wasn't answering Brennan. So Brennan answered for him, "I know why. Because you're afraid your relationship will not work out so you just decided to break it off. That's a sissy move if you ask me."

Jackson still wasn't saying anything. A silence swept on them, so thick that a blade couldn't cut through it. There was nothing more intense than these brothers in a serious showdown.

I took the time to peek carefully behind the wall. There they were, each boy occupying one side of the counter and facing each other. Faces hard, jaws clenched and hands fisted.

I took shallow breaths just in case I was breathing too noisily.

Again, Brennan spoke up, "When you found out, you didn't have to shout at her, you know? You didn't have to yell and accuse her and make her feel like trash. If you wanted to break up, maybe you could've just said, 'Hey, our situation is a bit complicated so will you mind if we took a break from each other for a while to sort things out in this riot? Thank you.' That's it! Plain and simple!"

Hold on, how did he know about the fight?

It must've been the cameras in the room. Maybe.

"First of all, I do not talk like that," Jackson scolded, "And second, is that what you're going to do? After all she did? Forgive and move on?"

Brennan replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe. "Of course! Of course I forgive her! Can you try being in her shoes for one second? She has divorced parents, she lost her best friend and she was blackmailed by her father. Don't you think it's cruel that you leave her, you being the person she looks up to the most?"

"Pretty sure she loves you," he added. My mind didn't deny.

But Jackson wasn't going to be brought down. "I've known her for about a month. It can't be like that with a girl I've just met. We just went out for a couple weeks, and then it's done. Nothing else."

"Oh, so that's just it to you? Like, 'Please wait for one year to unlock this level of relationship,' ? Because it's not about how long, Jackson. It's about what you did. Your dates would mean a hundred years if you think about it."

For the record, Jackson and I have known each other for more than a month. Maybe a month and a few weeks.

Then, Jackson laughed humorlessly, "I took her to Taco Bell and my bedroom. There's nothing special about that."

Wait a second there, asshole, who was the one who said about any place being special as long as I was there? Oh, that's right. It was you.

"Well, I've known Ollie for years," Brennan's tone was full of pride, "And I know she's capable of things you don't know. She's strong, she's tough and she's persistent. And she's not going to mope around; she's going to do something."

But too late, I had already moped around.

Still, tears pricked the corners of my eyes, hearing Brennan defend me. I should be the one there going against Jackson. But it touched me how he was willing to go through a battlefield for me.

That's my big brother.

"And if she does, that's not going to win my trust back," Jackson said defiantly, "It's going to take more than - wait, what are you doing?"

I saw why Jackson stopped midsentence. Spying, I saw Brennan pick up a carton of milk and bring it up to his lips. Soon, the two brothers were fighting over it, the liquid splashing back and forth. I felt sorry for that milk carton.

"Give it back - use a damn glass!" Jackson shouted. But too late, Brennan won and brought the carton to his mouth, drinking eagerly. Jackson had a disgusted look on his face.

Finished, Brennan wiped the milk moustache off him with the back of his hand. He stared boldly at his brother. "You deserve slobber on your milk," Brennan whispered menacingly.

"What the hell?"

"You sank my ship," Brennan told him in a rough voice.

"What the fu - " Jackson was revolted, "It wasn't a real relationship, Brennan. It wasn't meant to be!"

And at that time, I wanted to jump out of my hiding place, run up to him, and kick him on the crotch. And I'd say, "I didn't mean to do it!" But I didn't do that. Those things I heard were enough for me. As the boys continued bickering, I left.

♫ ♫ ♫

Okay. That one? That all happened days ago.

And in the following days, I did not sulk around.

I did not listen to music all day long. I did not try to reminisce what happened with Jackson and I. I did not have twisted and depressing thoughts. I did not shed tears here and there and furiously scrub my face until it was red. And I most definitely did not go to the gas station cry my insanity off.

Certainly, I also did not come to the horrifying realization that the gas station was awful without him with me.

The Montana Cure, also known as the ritual involving ice cream and movie time, wasn't really my thing. Jess tried it on me and Lawrence was cajoling with too many desserts. Mom was most helpful, patting my head and telling me to suck it up and put on my big girl panties.

So here I was, in Sweet Moments, cooking and waiting tables.

I rubbed my eyes vigorously, unsure if I was rubbing away tears or the last bits of sleep. Anyway, I just had to forget that I had flour on my hands and so the white powder got into my eyes.

Groaning, I felt around for the sink and began to wash my face, peeking every now and then. This wasn't really working out for me. I was forcing myself that doing my job could distract me from my life, but it wasn't. Stumbling, my legs gave in and I ended up next to the kitchen cupboards.

The others didn't bat an eyelash. Although Mom was giving me dirty looks, the shop carried on normally. Throwing my head back and hitting it on the edge of the counter, I contemplated on my problems.

But not really.

Alcohol. Wasn't that usually the solution for people? To get drunk and forget about the world?

Mom must have some of it in here. I knew she drank a cup or two whenever she did her taxes. I willed my body to shuffle around browse the cupboards.

True to my expectations, I found a bottle in one of the nooks. The brand was unfamiliar to me, but nonetheless, I uncapped it and took a whiff. Neutral. This was enough.

After what seemed like centuries of looking out for Mom, I snuck out of the kitchen and gradually out the shop. Fortunately, Mom had been busy talking to a customer demanding for a manager so I pulled off my ninja moves and escaped the confines of those desserts.

I didn't really know where I was going as I walked. But if you've had enough of a drink, then you could practically go anywhere, right? I drank from the bottle, keeping my gaze forward.

I wasn't planning to go totally drunk off my butt. That, the world wasn't ready to see. I'd drink just enough to make me feel better. What's the word? Yes, tipsy. I was going to get tipsy.

I guzzled from the bottle and walked and walked and walked. Soon, I was mumbling to myself. Either the alcohol was kicking in, or I was still my creepy self. It didn't matter.

"I didn't even get to lick his abs, imagine that," I said to myself, "But I can't hate him. That's a no-no. I'm not going to hate on a person. That's bad. Dean says it's bad, so I can't do that."

No, I wasn't slurring yet. I was still walking a straight line, so that was all good. I at least had to look unsuspicious.

I kept the bottle by my side, gripping it tightly. "They just don't understand do they? It doesn't hurt. It's just blank. Like you were given something fun to do and you get attached to it then it's suddenly taken away from you. I can't explain it well. It's just that feeling."

I mumbled to myself, "But don't worry, conscience. I'm not doing anything stupid today. I just need to get in touch with my mind palace."

Soon, I stumbled upon an empty bench. My eyes half closed, I sat on it. Wow. I didn't know I was tired from walking. How far had I gone?

I laughed and snorted, "If I wanted good exercise, I should get drunk more often."

I took one more swig from the bottle.

Finally, I lied on my stomach and waved my legs around. I played with the bottle, having nothing else to do. This was calming. This was like my 'me' time. Out of the blue, I started humming Hometown Glory by Adele.

"Why aren't you singing out loud?" I paused in the middle of a tune to ask myself this.

"Oh please, if I do, people will pass by and throw money at me," I replied to myself, "My cute voice brings all them to the yard, and they're like, 'I'm going to throw money at you'." I chuckled after that and continued humming.

It could be creepy, but this was a sense of peace. I started to switch songs, going through whatever playlist my mind was in the mood for. It transitioned into Paramore, then to Fergie, then to Miley Cyrus then to Brennan . . . etcetera.

The mashup was crazy.

"You know, bottle? I'm going to miss Jackson," I said after singing, "He's like my personal hoodie supplier. And he's nice to talk to. He's just as rude as me."

I sighed, "Is it bad that I imagined a future with him? With kids and marriage and stuff. Is that his kind of thing? You know what? I think he's going to grow up as an old cat person if he doesn't get back with me anytime soon."

"You think I should save him from that?" I inquired.

Silence.

"You're always wise, bottle," I sent it a satisfied smile, "Did you know I heard Brennan threatening Jackson he'd lock us back in a therapy box. With Swissybuns. You know what I think?"

I whispered, "I hope it's a padded cell. That would be the best date ever!"

I rambled on, "And they'll give us straitjackets. But I'm going to step up and ask for gay-jackets. And then we'll - "

I stopped abruptly, a harsh pain washing over me. I threw the bottle hard behind the bench after saying sorry to it. I turned to my side and hugged my knees, cradling side to side as much as the bench allowed me. There was this drilling in my cranium, followed by an overwhelming heat all over my body.

Cakes, I was hotter than usual.

Too hot.

Hot damn.

I spat out a string of curses, a mixture of censored and uncensored. Shoot, had I brought my phone with me? I felt around in my shirt. It was in my bra. Now who should I call?

My current state translated to: drunk enough to talk to myself, but not drunk enough to drunk dial my ex-boyfriend. So Jackson was out of those options.

Brennan? No. He'll just pick up the bottle and get as drunk as me.

Mom? She'd haul me back to the shop by my ear and force feed me. No, no.

Lawrence was out of the picture since he was studying for exams and doing research projects. Jessica, too, was trapped by eternal piles of college work.

Montana then.

My fingers shook as I looked for her number. I didn't feel too good. Fever . . . was that usually a side effect of consuming alcohol?

"Hello? Ollie? Is everything okay?" Montana said from the other line. I groaned in reply.

"Help me," I pleaded, "I don't feel well, Monty. My head . . . it hurts."

"What?" she sounded frantic, "Where the hell are you? Does Mom know you've gone out? What happened to you?"

"I may or may not have downed half a bottle of some drink I found in the forbidden cupboards. But my head hurts and I feel hotter than usual, and I can't move - "

I interrupted myself and moved the phone farther from myself. I leaned down and puked on the grass as I clutched my stomach. Already sure that was all the upchuck I could release, I pressed the phone back on my ear.

"Are you - "

"I'm not pregnant - I'm sick. I swear, I finished my period yesterday," I told my sister.

"Um, I wasn't going to ask if you were pregnant," said Montana.

"Oh, is that so . . . " I muttered, "Just come and get me."

"I can't if you don't tell me where you are!"

I squinted at my surroundings. At least I knew I didn't wander outside L.A. Downtown was few more paces to my left, so it shouldn't be far from Montana's condo. The road didn't contain traffic - in fact, only a few cars whizzed by.

"I'm not sure," I said in a small voice.

"Nevermind that! Just stay put, Ollie. I can't get you right now; I have an important meeting to go to. But I'm going to get someone to help you, alright? Just don't do anything stupid!" Montana instructed.

"I'm too hot to do anything stupid," I assured her. But then I started shaking. Oh chocolate, it was getting cold.

"Okay, stay put. I'm going to send help, I promise."

"Just don't call Mom please," I requested. And she hung up after one last reassurance. My eyes were drifting to close and I wasn't having control on them.

I didn't know what happened after that.

In the middle of my slumber, I would half-wake and wonder why I felt like I was moving when I my feet were off the ground. Then, I'd convince myself I wasn't floating on air and come to the conclusion that someone was carrying me.

But who?

Must be someone fit because I was heavy.

Then, I'd feel the blast of an air conditioner and the smell of formality. Don't ask. There really was the smell of formality and business-y in the air. I'd hear the soft ding of an elevator and soothing voices.

But for the most part, my eyes were closed. I didn't dare peek.

The time when I really woke up, I was already lying down on a soft bed, a comforter pulled over my body. The temperature in me lowered a bit, but I still felt like crap. The knocking in my head dulled into gentle pitter patters.

Slowly, I let myself sit up. The room was dark, save for the sunlight pouring from the glass windows. The room looked absolutely rich in style. Condo. I was in Montana's place. So she did get to me after all.

"Hey, you're awake." To my mild shock, Brennan came into view.

"I am," I managed to say, feeling around my neck and my forehead. I took the aspirin prepared at the nightstand beside me.

"What happened to you? I haven't heard from you lately," Brennan moved close to my side and planted a kiss on my forehead.

"Ah, ah, but you have to tell me how did I get here first," I held out a finger in front of his face.

Before starting, he motioned to the mug on my side, "You drink that ginger ale. It helps with the hangover. It'll make you feel better." I picked up the mug and put the rim to my lips.

He began, "This is Monty's room - "

"Montana," I corrected him.

"What?"

"Only I get to call her Monty," I scowled at him to emphasize my claim, "Continue."

"Okay, this is Montana's room. She's in a long and boring meeting so she can't get to you right now. But she's paranoid. She called me to come get you and she kept pestering me with texts. When I heard that you were sick and outside of your house, I got worried, too."

"How'd you find me?" I took a sip of my drink.

"That's the plot twist," said Brennan, "I didn't find you. Jackson did."

At that point, I raised both my eyebrows. He found me? And he didn't draw on my face or anything? So he did care a teeny tiny bit. An itty bitty bit. How touching.

The boy in front of me continued, "He said he was driving to clear his mind then he found you on a park bench. You were shaking. So he took you to his car and called me. I said I was actually on my way to get you. Then, he took you to this building and I carried you up here."

"And he didn't stay to wait for me to wake up, huh?" A sad smile crept on my face.

"No, but just between you and me, he kissed you on the cheek before leaving," Brennan whispered, winking. That earned a chuckle from me.

"Anyway, while you slept, your fever went down but you better get some meds and get rest. Harmony and Montana will be arriving later," he stood up but I grabbed his hand, sitting him back down.

"You're not mad at me?" I asked him after a deep breath.

He frowned, "Of course not. My family is important to me, but I love you just as much. Unlike, a certain someone."

"Really?"

"You're my little sister, remember?"

"And Jackson . . ." I swallowed, "He's still mad at me, isn't he?"

"Maybe he is, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care about you. He did take you all the way here. He just doesn't realize he's beating himself up for something worthless - he's angry at you but really, there's nothing to be angry about. You're coping much better than him, by the way."

"I am?"

Brennan whispered again, "And another secret? I hear him cry like a baby in his room all the time. He just needs to crawl back to you and I'll be captain and sailing the seas with my ship again."

I titled my head, thinking about his second name and how he called a dog 'President Swissybuns'. "Hope you didn't name it disgustingly."

♫ ♫ ♫