Page 16 of Tell Me I'm Enough

Having a great time.

Unlike me.

I slip from the crowd and swipe two glasses of champagne from one of the servers before they can see whose hands grabbed them.

Walking to the back of the reception ballroom, I see a bottle sitting on a table.

Screw it.

I chug one of the glasses in my hands to free it up and replace it with the bottle, slipping out the door and into the hallway.

I find an empty supply room and close the door behind me, sinking down with my back against it. I tip my head back and down the other glass I brought.

Why is a fourteen-year-old drinking, you may ask? I don’t know…look around. This is my life. Wouldn’t you want to drown it all out, too?

I’m alone a lot, and my dad has a drink in his hand anytime he’s home. We have an endless supply in the house, so I’ve tried it here and there since my mom died. I never touched it while she was here. I had no reason to want it or be curious about why adults always loved it so much, why it made them act differently. My mom didn’t drink—only him—and I didn’t want to be anything like him. But once she was gone, I didn’t care. I just wanted to know if it could turn off any of the pain.

I’ve never been drunk before…I think I might be now, though. I’ve had, like, five of these glasses? My stomach kind of hurts, and my head is really wobbly. It’s all I can focus on right now, and I’m okay with that.

I still can’t seem to help the tears that start to fall on their own. I just let them. I let myself feel the emotions I constantly have to hide as the alcohol pats me on the back, metaphorically soothing me, as if it were my mom’s hand trying to comfort me.

I don’t know how much time passes before someone tries to open the door.

It stops against my back, and then I hear my dad’s voice. “Mase. Are you in there? We’ve been looking for you everywhere, son. What the hell are you doing?”

I stumble to stand, and he’s able to push the door fully open. He stares at me and then looks down at the champagne bottle that’s rolling across the floor from the door hitting it.

“You’re supposed to be out here with everyone, and you’re hiding away drinking?”

I just stare back at him, not saying anything, not really caring anymore.

“You’re such a damn disappointment, son. What the hell are you doing?”

I shrug and feel off balance. I even have to put my hands on the shelves behind me just to keep myself upright.

“The photographer is out there waiting to get pictures with me, you, and your mom. Come on.”

My brows lift, and it feels like they could literally touch the sky right now with the exaggerated expression on my face.

He’s got to be kidding.

“I didn’t know we were…going to the graveyard today,” I say, slurring a little.

“Mase,” he grits out.

“I guess it would make sense…since today itisthe anniversary of herdying…”

“Mason Scott Sinclair…get your shit together and come take the picture with me and Rose—yourmom.”

“She’s…not…my mom.”

I go to walk past him, and he grabs me by the collar of my button-up shirt, pulling me close to his face. I can feel the heat and anger radiating off him.

“You’re the child here, Mase. You do what’s asked of you, and you don’t embarrass me like this. You need to go drink some water and—”

Before he can finish whatever else he’s going to say, my stomach interrupts. I try to hold it in, but it’s a pointless attempt. I vomit all over his tux and shoes.

He pushes me back so hard that I fall into a rack of decorations, some of them falling to the ground and breaking.