Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him-it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at leas...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Bro, how the fuck did you do that?" Chase yells over the music. I just laugh and continue to move my fingers over the controller, flicking and pressing the keys as fast as I can to ensure a victory. Chase's girl walks in the room stopping about a few inches from my left foot. She's hovering, telling me she's about to ask me for a favor, "Uh Taylor, I think some girl is here to see you? Or at least I thought I heard her yelling your name through the door."
She plops down on Chase's lap as he grumbles something and ducks his head to the right to not lose his view of the screen. I ignore her comment until I hear something hit the front door. The rest of the guys continue to play and drink, the music so loud the thump was barely audible.
I look through the peephole but don't see anything. I turn the knob and open the door, but there isn't anything there. A noise coming from the right side of the porch catches my attention.
There, sitting with her back against the house and legs stretched out on the concrete railing is Camryn Quinn with a brown paper bag in her hand. The fingers of her left hand curled around the neck of a bottle. She slowly lifts it to her lips, taking a long pull before resting it back in her lap. I do a double take to make sure I'm not seeing things. I clear my throat into the darkness, hoping to get her attention. She doesn't seem to hear me, or if she does she doesn't acknowledge me.
"Camryn?" I say into the darkness.
"So he is home," she says, barely turning her head in my direction while taking another sip from the bag.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I ask, more out of confusion than curiosity.
"Hmm, what the fuck am I doing? I'm just havin' myself a little drinky drink," She slurs and lifts the bag in my direction. "I would offer you some, but–well then there wouldn't be more for me."
When she brings the bottle back to her lips, the porch light reflects off her face. I can see that her eyes are completely glossed over. Not only did she come here looking for me, but she is piss-ass drunk.
When I left her at the museum the other night she seemed upset, sure, but not the kind of upset that would lead to this. I've never seen her drink like this, or drink more than a single beer or shot the few times I've been around her in that type of setting. I'm concerned more than anything at how this happened, about how she managed to get here. But I'm equally concerned about why she's here. She pretty much told me to go fuck myself the last time I saw her. I figured the next time would be at the tutoring center and would hold a strong case of the silent treatment.
She begins to try to move herself, but the hand she plants underneath of her bottom to stand up quickly misses the railing and falls to her side. I walk towards her now because I'm worried with one wrong move she will tumble off the side of the porch.
"Why are you here and why are you drinking? You don't drink?" I ask.
"You know what I love?" she says ignoring my questions. I don't respond, instead I just watch her.
