The Inventor

Chapter Thirty; "Thanks mom"

     You left your brace off and threw it out of your sight in a seething moment of hatred, taking a few jars of moonshine out, turning on the only static station that could play songs as loud as possible. It took a few minutes of fiddling but you got the song to become clearer, unlike your head when you finished your first jar and moved on to a second, fixing up an assortment of items dropped off to you.

     Multiple times you forgot only one leg cooperated without the brace and fell on your face, hitting your shin and shooting profanities out.

     Things became fuzzier while you twirled around in the rolly chair, singing along with the music in an off key voice, scraping up your hands with a screwdriver because your hand eye coordination was destroyed.

     Abruptly, the music stopped and you kept muttering the words of the chorus until it registered nothing was playing. You leaned back the chair all the way, looking at Newt upside down.

     "Aye Newtie," You gave a little wave and adjusted your chair back up right, swiveling around to see him.

     "What the bloody hell are you doing?" He put his hands on his hips, gesturing to the pile of empty moonshine jars lying scattered on the floor.

     "Getting," You paused, "not sober."

     "Are you drunk?!"

     You scratched your head with the end of the screwdriver, a little bit of dandruff falling, you brushed it away, "There's no correct answer to that."

     "Y/n! You can't just drink when things go wrong-"

     You shushed him, "You hear that?"

     "What?" He went quiet and listened.

     You scooted back over to the radio and turned it all the way up again, bobbing your head and skidding across the room, thumping against the wall with a childish whoop.

     "No! No! No!" He yelled over the radio, turning it off and crossing his arms, "What do you think you're doing, huh? What good does getting drunk do?"

     "It's all quiet and fuzzy up here, no more thoughts," You tapped your head.

     "We need your thoughts! You have good thoughts!"

     You cackled, "PFT! If I had good thoughts I wouldn't be drunk as a skunk!"

     "So this is how you solve your problems?"

     "Yup," You popped the 'p' and smiled, going to take another drink but Newt snatched it from you, pouring the rest down the sink.

     You rolled your neck and made a gurgling groaning sound, "Stop being a mood killer, I'll be perfectly peachy in the morning. It's fine!"

     "None of this is fine!" He threw the cup in your trash, "You're supposed to come to me when you're struggling! Don't get wasted!"

     You wrinkled your nose, "Why would I come to you?"

     The question seemed to hurt him, "Because- well- well we're family!"

     You rolled your eyes, "Uh, duh, doesn't mean you have to turn my tunes off my dude."

     "I know I don't have any right to tell you how to cope but this isn't going to end well, I'll tell you that much! You haven't eaten much! You could get sick! You could get alcohol poisoning! You're going to wake up feeling like klunk! And it's not even sunset, you're drinking at three!" He continued to ramble on, and you rubbed your eyes, feeling him killing your vibe.