"We fought an uphill battle. One we had no hope of winning."
~~~
Felicity-Flick as most call her-Carter, has learned a thing or two in her 12 years of life. How to deal with drunk parents without waking the neighbors, how to smoke a cigarette withou...
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"Did you get any sleep last night?"
Nick asked me when I stepped out of the bedroom the next morning. I jumped at the sound of his voice, not expecting anyone to be awake this early in the morning.
The clock read 7:23 AM. I had hoped I could slip away without anyone noticing. I cursed under my breath before looking up at the sad-looking man watching me.
"Yeah, I got some," I muttered softly, shoving my sweatshirt into my backpack with unnecessary urgency. It was only half a lie. I had gotten some sleep. Not much, but some. Enough to know that I had to get out of here before Nick had the chance to interrogate me about my humiliating display of vulnerability last night, or the chance to talk to Jackson again after our conversation about me going to San Diego early this morning. "But I should be getting home now. Don't want the family to worry about me."
Nick set his coffee down, his eyes softening into puddles of sympathy and worry. I could feel my face turning a deep, shameful shade of red as I struggled to get myself situated with Nick studying me like that. Like I was a social experiment. Like I was a problem he had to solve. "Do they worry about you?" He asked, leaning against the counter behind him.
"No idea," I answered truthfully. I had no clue how my family would react to me taking off like I had last night. Although, Emil was the only one who'd been witness to it. I doubted the others would even notice I wasn't there. Maybe they would assume I was hiding from them. And maybe this time, they wouldn't be wrong. "But I don't feel like finding out." I hiked my backpack up on my shoulders.
Nick's eyebrows furrowed in concern and he pushed himself off the counter and walked over to me. I found myself shrinking backward in discomfort as he got closer. He smelled like alcohol and dirt. When he stopped in front of me, I could see the purple bruises in the crooks of his elbow, and the thinning skin on his face and arms. It made me wonder if he was sober. And if he was, how long had he been so.
The Nick that'd helped me last night was a boy I knew. Someone kind and familiar. But that was the same boy who'd given my brother drugs just yesterday and been the source of turmoil and animosity among my family. I wasn't sure how to feel about Nick today. It always amazed me how people could be so many different things at once. How someone could make you feel so many different things at once. It was confusing, and irritating, and made my desire to leave the apartment even stronger than before.
"Are you okay?" He asked, seeming unsure of what he should do.
I avoided his gaze and shrugged. "I'm fine. I'm always fine."
"You weren't fine last night."
"I was barely conscious last night." I reminded, my tone sharper than I'd intended it to be. Nick didn't seem to notice.
He shrugged, rocking back on his heels in obvious discomfort. "Flick, you were messed up last night. I don't think you're okay. Maybe you should stay here for a little while," He suggested cautiously.
