I'd Kill You First: when bad meets bad

Chap. 2

SODA:

"You just left us hanging, Soda! We had to take a stupid taxi home and didn't even know where you were or if you were okay!"

I rolled over in bed and yawned, holding the phone away from my ear as Cheryl chewed me out. After stretching, I swung my legs over the side of my bed and stood up, swaying a bit as I grimaced at the pounding in my head.

"Are you even listening to me?" came my cousin's irritated voice.

"Mhm," I mumbled into the phone, stumbling out my door and down the short hallway to the kitchen.

I poured myself a glass of apple juice as Cheryl continued her rant.

"Andrew was so drunk he couldn't walk, and you left me by myself to have to help him back to the apartment! I thought we were friends, what happened to sticking with each other?"

I sighed and took a sip, smiling a little as the juice went down my parched throat. "Your drunk boytoy isn't my problem, Cher. You both knew I had a thing at that club, and only let you tag along because you begged. You aren't my responsibility, and I really don't give a shit what happens to you."

She gasped at my comment and said, "I know you don't mean that, so I'll just let you know I'm very hurt by what you did before I let you go."

I smirked and grabbed a waffle from the freezer. "Right, well bye."

I hung up without waiting for a reply and was about to set my phone down when I got a call from my brother, Trace.

"Sup," I said into the phone, holding it between my cheek and shoulder while I put my waffle in the microwave.

"Where are you?"

"Hello to you too," I muttered, ignoring the annoyed tone in his voice.

"Save it, Soda, where the hell are you?"

"The apartment, where else?" I said in irritation.

"So you aren't at a frat party right now doing weed?"

I frowned and took my waffle out of the microwave. "Uh, sorry to disappoint. Why?"

He grunted into the phone and said, "I just got a call from some guy telling me to come get you because you were high and trying to strip."

"At 8:00 AM? Seriously?"

"Whatever, so you're at the apartment?"

"Yes!" I said in exasperation, tired of this conversation.

"Don't get an attitude with me, not today," he rumbled.

"So I can tomorrow? Look Trace, you aren't my babysitter and I don't answer to you, so if you're done being a mother, I'm gonna go," I said with a yawn while buttering my breakfast.

"Dad is back," he mumbled quietly.

I dropped my butter knife on the counter with a clatter and gripped the phone with my hand.

"What?" I breathed, dread filling my thoughts.

"Yeah," Trace said with an equal tone of dread, "He got out last week and called me a few days ago, said he wanted to see me."

"And you said go stick your dick in a blender, right?"

"Soda." I could here the reprimand in his voice. "Give him a chance, okay? They told me he's better this time, sobered up and all. I told him where we both stay and-"

"You what?" I practically yelled into the phone. "Who committed suicide and passed down the right to start making those kinds of decisions!"