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“I am glad to see you are indeed alive, sir,” Clark cheekily states upon crossing the threshold. “I will report my findings to Hamilton.”
“Out,” leaves me at the same time I tip the glass towards my lips for another drink. “Now.”
“I am afraid not, sir.”
Post another slurp, I sneer, “It wasn’t a request.”
“And it is not an order I will be following.”
His refusal pokes at my ribs.
Does its best to spark life into my chest.
Whispers to my senses to sneak away from being paralyzed to begin processing everything liquor has so lovingly prevented.
No.
I don’t wanna process shit.
Or protest it.
Or make peace.
I wanna remain just like I am.
In a copper liquid prison of pacification.
“I’ll fire you,” I threaten between slightly smaller swallows. “For insubordination.”
“Then fire me.” He politely folds his hands in front of him as I slouch down further into my seat. “However, I cannot simply allow this to continue.”
“What to continue, Alfred?” The snarky retort is followed by guzzling down what remains. “Why don’t you do that thing you haven’t done enough of in my life and be fucking specific?” Slamming the glass down occurs while I search for a non-empty bottle. “A straight shooter.” One stack of files gets knocked onto the floor during my reach for what’s left in the nearest container. “You know that shit the old lying, cheating, dick of the house apparently loved.” Twisting off the lid is done in tandem with locking eyes. “Another fucking secret he kept.” I carelessly toss the object at his feet. “Cause you know he didn’t have enough of those.”
He doesn’t allow my drinking straight from the bottle to deter him, “Your drinking is out of control again, Weston.”
“No,” I shake my head and wedge the bottle between my open legs, “my drinking is the only thing in control.”
“You’ve missed work.”
“Yet money was still made.”
“You’ve missed events.”
“Yet money was still spent.”
“You’ve missed wedding plans.”
“Yet I’m still getting married.”
“Are you?” The challenged question cuts deeper than it should, indicating a need for more alcohol. “I’m not entirely sure Miss Bryn has any interest in marrying someone who has not only blatantly ignored her for over two weeks but also missed her prenatal appointment.”
It’s difficult to present indifference but not impossible. “She has nothing to worry about. I’ll pay for knocking her up just like the bastard who raised me did.”
Clark swallows one comment to spew another. “She deserves more than that.”
“And Marzia didn’t?”
Simply hearing her name has him shifting his weight.
