chapter 12: breathe

    Holly thinks the world is plotting against her. Preparing an infinity worth of wars, in fact. Because she almost kissed a boy today, one that was supposed to be her friend. Fuck you, Universe.

    Walt drops her off at the edge of her street. She would've never, not even in a million years, let him see her apartment building. She is shitfaced; as drunk as she gets, when she walks to the closest thing she has to home. Walt asks her more than once if she needs help, but she kisses his cheek, mumbles something about his cheek being cotton candy and walks out.

    He really is something, that boy. It is rare that in her measly life, someone is attractive soul-wise. He makes her forget that she has to steal food, or that she cries in the shower too often, because her brother and aunt always end up finishing half the bar of soap there is. He makes her forget that alcohol tastes like shit, and that life is the smell of fresh mud after the rain.

     He is the replacement for smoke and tequila; and that scares the absolute shit out of her. If she relies on him too much; if she ends up loving that awkward bundle of intelligence, she will become addicted and forget her way to rehab.

    She's been walking for too long, she realizes that. And suddenly the smell of air is sitting on her lungs; crushing them with every breath. She runs and runs, until her heart is burning between them. She falls five times and a half on her way up on the rotting stairs, and earns bruises she doesn't deserve.

    She hears the shouting first; loud. It comes from a woman half Edward's size; and Meredith doesn't shout. Not when her boss felt her up and fired her, because she didn't want to sleep with him. Not when she got her heart broken. But at Edward.

    Holly has enough sense to bash into the door and observe the scene. She puts her hand on the doorknob to steady herself; the world seems to like turning around her in circles. Edward is standing tall in front of Meredith, whose neck veins are popping. It's a funny scene, for a split second. But then it's not.

    "What is going on?" Holly squints.

     Meredith answers first, "your brother is high. And he failed another English test. He won't graduate like this!"

    At that moment, everything that doesn't consist of the boy in that room fades away. Holly forgets that she is drunk; she forgets that she wants to kiss Walt; she doesn't give a fuck about Ana or her test tomorrow. She walks into the kitchen and splashes her face with icy water. She swallows two pain relieving pills and holds her face in her hands for thirty-one seconds.

    "You did what?" She faces her brother, as well as she could. He inherited their father's height and their mother's hazel eyes, so in this state, looking at him in the eyes makes her even angrier. They are surrounded with red veins and a hazy look.

    "I did what?"

    "Edward. You got high?"

    "Uh, yuh? Is there a problem, Holland?"

     "Yes, there is," she knows he used her full name just to piss her off. He didn't even need to, she's already angry.

    "Whaaaat? There is? Oh no, what are you going to do about it?"

     She glares at him, "I'm going to tell you that you're a fucking dumbass. You broke the promise."

     "The promise?" he winces and smiles, taps his head, "Oh! The promise. The stupid little promise."

     "What promise?" asks Meredith.

    The promise to never, ever go near drugs. Drink; but don't do drugs. Dad nearly killed Ed, because bipolarism mixed with rum and weed don't go well together. Dad overdosed. Never do drugs, Holly thinks.

     "Nothing," Holly says to her, nonchalant. And back to Ed, "Stop being a dick. Go to sleep, we'll talk in the morning."

    "My sissie told me to go to sleep," he talks to a nonexistent audience. "I'm so scared. Well, I don't want to sleep. Because I don't give a fuck about my sissie."

    "Go to sleep," she pushes them into their room and he stumbles onto his mattress.

    "You're a bitch," he says.

     "You're an asshole. Go to sleep," she wants so badly to hit him, to get back the little brother who wouldn't hurt a fly, "Go to sleep."

     "I love you," he mumbles. "Thanks."

     "You're still an asshole."

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