Beautiful Boy

the big bridge

amara haven

"Okay, thanks, David. Bye," Mum set the phone down as I entered the kitchen.

"Everything okay?" I asked, grabbing the stuff to make a coffee.

"Amara, honey," she started, "Nicolas relapsed in New York."

Called it.

Is what I wanted to say, but it was insensitive.

"Is he okay?" I asked.

She took a deep breath, "We're not sure, but we think so. He left after a fight with David yesterday."

I sighed, rubbing my eyes as I took the first sip of my coffee.

"So, the prom is tomorrow," she smiled, "Are you excited?"

"I'm not going," I replied.

"What?" She exclaimed, "It's Senior prom, you have to go!"

"I don't want to," I shrugged.

"What about Leah? And those new friends of yours?" She asked.

"She'll be fine. And the poetry club aren't going either," I muttered.

"What are they doing then?"

"They're meeting for milkshakes at that diner on Lombard street," I sipped my coffee, savouring the warm bitterness.

"You should go with them, then," she urged.

"I'd rather be at home," I shrugged.

"You need time with people, Amara. You can't spend all of your time in your feelings. Nicolas left two years ago, sweetie. It's time to accept that," she rubbed my shoulder.

"Gee thanks, Mum. Thank you so much! Maybe you should lose Dad and see how easy it is to just accept it." I yelled.

"Amara," she warned.

"What?" I snapped, "Are we doing this again? Are you going to tell me to calm down? And tell me that you understand? That it'll all be okay? Because I'm not interested in your sympathy."

I stormed off, up the stairs and slammed my bedroom door.

Tears stabbed at my eyes, I tilted my head up, trying to avoid crying.

Vodka.

Or whiskey.

Anything.

I needed it.

I racked my brain trying to come up with a way to get some.

We had a shelf of alcohol in the garage...

I walked carefully down the stairs, stopping midway when I saw Mum crying in Dad's arms.

He was rubbing the back of her head and hushing her as they swayed gently.

I felt my chest tighten, but I continued my journey to find alcohol.

I sneaked out of the back door and into the garage, grabbed a bottle of vodka and headed back to my room.

I popped the lid off and drank the liquid, closing my eyes as I let it burn down my throat.

Better already.

Sip after sip, I finished the bottle, tossing it aimlessly by my bookshelf.

I laid down on my bed, staring at the ceiling, deep in thought.

"Amara." A voice made me jump, turning to the door I saw Dad.

"Amara, honey," he said, sitting down on the end of my bed.