Page 33 of The Addict

Without pause, Damian pushed me to the side, inspecting the area where I housed my alcohol. “What the hell is this anyway? Your own little bar? This is going to be gone first thing tomorrow.”

I clenched my fists. “Who do you think you are? No one asked you to be part of my life, I don’t need you!”

He snorted and started yanking bottles from the cabinets. “Yeah? Well you don’t need this shit either.”

“Don’t–”

CRASH!

My room reeked of spilled booze and shattered glass. Damian kept throwing bottle after bottle, smashing them against the wall. Ounces of liquid gold—wasted, one after another.

“What the fuck?” I shouted.

Damian turned towards me, his eyes blazing and chest heaving. “THIS STUFF IS KILLING YOU!”

For a moment I was terrified. Somehow, Damian had transformed into David: violent, screaming, and angry.

That was fine. I could be angry too.

“You think you understand everything!” I snarled. “You don’t! You have no idea what I go through seeing mother like this!”

Damian was silent, allowing me to vent.

“You never try to help, you always stick up for that bastard!”

Father. The word held no significance.

“You have no idea the sacrifices I make for this family,” Damian scorned.

I grit my teeth. “I hate it here. And. I. Hate. You.”

There was a terrible hush in the room. All of a sudden, I wished there had been some sound, something to remind me of the stress or rage. Instead of the guilt.

“I’m–”

“Don’t–” Damian snapped, “I don’t want you to apologize.”

I averted my gaze.

“You never realize how hard I work and what I attempt to achieve for this family. But I don’t blame you. You’re still young. Both you and I had a rough upbringing, so I should have anticipated that you would turn to this crap to help lessen your pain. We’ve given you too much independence, too fast.” He took a deep breath. “I have failed as a brother haven’t I?”

I shook my head, wanting this to be over. I just wanted to sleep. “No. I just...I don’t know...”

But I did know.

Tell him you’re afraid.

Tell him you want help.

Tell him what’s hidden underneath your bed.

Tell him what’s in the drawer so that he can remove it…

…and get you help.

“I’ll stop.” I insisted, raising my arms.

You won’t.