When I Was Whole (And When I Fell Apart)

18 - Dix-huit

"You shouldn't have done that," Elisabeth said, voice hoarse from lack of sleep. "Sneaking out at one in the morning? Does mom even know? You didn't even tell me—"

        Laurence continued staring out the window, not even bothering to look back as he blinked the weariness from his eyes. He ran a finger across the red mark across his face, from when Elisabeth had slapped him just minutes earlier. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, one that was even more acidic than the stench of beer on his breath.

        "Laurence," she hissed, firmly. No response. "Laurence!"

        "Do I have to tell you everything about me?" he shouted back, barely audible. "God, you're such a killjoy, Elisabeth. My life doesn't revolve around you, ever thought about that?"

        Elisabeth grit her teeth, hands clenching on the steering wheel. She was in her sweatpants, wearing an oversized university jacket that hung around her arms and bunched at the ends. Her glasses were perched on the bridge of her nose, and she had to lift a finger to push them back.

        "It's my business when my brother is sneaking out of the house doing god knows what." She let out an exasperated groan, narrowing her eyes to squint at the road.  "How many bottles did you drink, huh? I saw three next to you."

        Laurence laughed. It was a bitter laugh that nearly shook the car, his deep voice thundering in her ears as he sank into his seat, mind still dazed from the alcohol. He hadn't expected to drink so much, really, but there was too much in his head, and he wasn't in the mood to get high.

        "Thinking? Oh, right, as if I can't make my own choices," he rolled his eyes, squinting at the harsh light. "You don't even know who those people are, assuming much?"

        Elisabeth didn't even shoot him a glance. "You were drinking. At sixteen. And I saw you with a joint." She lay a foot on the accelerator, their beat-up car rushing across the empty road as the streetlights hung above them. "Just what were you doing while I was gone? Smoking weed?"

        "So what, huh?" Laurence hissed back, eyes wide open. It was hard to stop himself from falling asleep, the beer from earlier had left dizzy and faint, and it was a struggle to even lift his head. "It was all fun and games until you burst in, slapped my face, and then dragged me out. Do you even know how humiliating that was?"

        "Serves you right," she muttered back, her gaze still fixated intently on the road as though she were trying to avoid his glare. "Are you even sober? You smelled like alcohol when I got you, and–"

        Laurence's eyes widened. Realization dawned on her face, and if she didn't have both hands on the steering wheel, he could almost visualize her slamming a hand over her mouth.

        "Before you ask how I know," She quickly added, though Laurence could already feel the guilt creeping into her tone, "I've been to a university party, and you smell like one of those freshmen who got wasted on cheap beer their first night out."

        He looked at her from his seat, gritting his teeth as he let out a scoff. "I wasn't exactly drinking that much, Lizzie, you don't have to chastise me right now."

        "Didn't have to be." She shrugged, false cheer in her voice as she glanced at him from the rearview mirror. "But they smoke too, which you clearly do, considering I found your stash in the guest room."

        Laurence's face paled, remembering where he'd hidden his last few packs of cigarettes, and he had to clamp a hand over his mouth as he forced his sleep-addled mind to remember where he'd kept his stash of Marlboro's.