Bane of My Existence

Bottles

"That poor man." Lydia says once they're back in the car.

The rest of them can only nod.

"Where does Corey live?" Stiles asks as he turns the key in the ignition.

Scott shrugs.

Celia turns to Lydia in the front seat.

"Does the math club have a member sheet or something?"

She thinks for a minute, her bottom lip swollen from where she's been biting it.

"It's listed for emergencies, but that would be an abuse of position."

"Lydia," Stiles says sternly. "This is an emergency."

She looks at him, almost angrily, then relents. Pulling out her phone, she opens a pdf from the spring Club Fair. As only a freshman, Lydia made such an impact, enacting so many changes the first semester to make the struggling group run smoothly that she earned the spot as vice president on the club's student leadership board. I hwould've had president, she'd said, he only won on seniority.

Stiles stops in front of a large plaster apartment complex, so run down it nearly appears abandoned.

"We're here." He says.

The four of them look around the neighborhood, all well-maintained single story homes except for the one massive structure. On the fence, there's a notice from the city citing dangerous living conditions. Celia stares at it, remembering the notice left on her front door when she returned from school one day at 8 years old.

"Están desalojando-" her mother sobbed. Celia remembers wondering how someone could kick another person out of their home. Innocence lost and never recovered. It was the first time she realized people could be cruel.

"You okay?" Stiles whispers. Celia looks up, the rest of the group watching her deep in reflection.

"Yeah. Let's go."

Stiles turns further to face her.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Lydia shoots a glare in his direction.

"We do. We promised her father."

Stiles rolls his eyes mockingly and turns back to Celia.

"No," Celia says. "She's right, we have to."

Stiles sighs, the corner of his mouth hinting a sympathetic smile.

"Alright. Let's do it then."
—
"Which one is it?" Scott asks as they move through the corridor.

"Apartment 4." Lydia provides, reluctantly still.

Stiles walks alongside Celia, sneaking glances at her in an attempt to gauge her state of mind. He puts a hand on the middle of her back, feeling her tense up from the gesture. Celia keeps walking, avoiding his eyes but soon relaxes under his touch. They approach the apartment finding the door ajar. The group exchange cautious looks before Scott pushes the door open the rest of the way. Stiles runs his thumb over Celia's spine once before moving beside Scott. The two of them enter the apartment, an unspoken agreement leaving Celia and Lydia waiting outside.

The one bedroom apartment is trashed, empty whiskey and beer bottles littering the floor, oil soaked packages of microwave meals piled on the coffee table and loveseat. Scott and Stiles shuffle single-file through the clearest path leading from the front door to the bedroom.

"What is that smell?" Scott asks.

Stiles sniffs the air around him, his face souring when he finds it.

"Fuck," he chokes. "That's horrific."

Scott knocks lightly on the bedroom door. Behind it is a low mumbling sound, clinking of glass, muffled pings of a game show playing. Waiting a few seconds, Scott knocks again. The same garbled muttering picks up. Scott hesitantly twists the doorknob, the stench of the room wafting out full force. Behind him, Stiles gags, pulling the collar of his shirt over his nose. Inside, Corey is propped against the wall on a bare, grime-caked mattress covered in what seems to be vomit.

"Corey, fuck." Scott exhales, rushing over. His hands hover over Corey unsure what to do and afraid to touch him.

Beside Corey there's a baggie of white and blue pills, a few crushed up on a tablet. Stiles is frozen in the doorway, taking in the state of the room. Dirty laundry piled midway up the wall, flies weaving between broken window blinds. The same disarray of empty bottles trails along the floor beside the mattress.

"Corey, can you hear me?" Scott shakes him by the arm.

"They took her. They fucking took her. They ate her up." Corey's words slurred.

"Corey, who took her? Where's Emile?" Scott presses gently but with urgency.

Corey coughs, his labored gasps quickly shifting to gagging and heaving.

"Emie..." Corey whines, starting to sob.

Scott looks to Stiles, his eyes filled with panic. Stiles scrambles to get to his phone in his pocket, walking hastily to rejoin the girls. When he turns the corner Celia sees his face has gone pale.

"Stiles," she starts. "What's wrong? What's in there?"

He meets her eyes, his hand over his cellphone mic.

"It's bad. It's really bad."

Before Celia can follow up, Stiles steers by her, on the phone with a dispatcher.

———