Mess You Made

37.

Miguel.

I push myself up on the minibar and let my legs dangle as I look across at the collection of liquor. In their second smaller living room, the minibar they have is one of my favourite spots. Even though it's rarely used. Hudson's staved off anything addicting, Everest doesn't drink and Luca's training and diet is too strict to allow alcohol. I'll be prohibited from most alcohol once I start the G-league— it's a diuretic. Dehydrates. Reduces reaction time.

But he has some expensive liquor. Macallans. Don Julio's. Those Louis XIII Cognac's that I want to collect someday and Rome has a fuckton of them collected.

I crave a shot but with Everest beside me, sat comfortably with his legs dangling off, facing the other way and snacking on chocolate, I refrain.

With a mouthful of chocolate, Everest looks over at me, then gives a light shake of his head, "Did you know there's a word for you?"

"Well-endowed."

Everest fights a smile, "Materialistic." Then he looks proud, "Didn't know that was a word, Vy told me."

I shrug, look back to the alcohol. Always have been. I like the art of cars and clothes, love my own collections and deep down, I like the pretentiousness of it.

Cast a glance back over my shoulder to where they're sat in the corner of the room. This lounge room's cosier since it's smaller and they tend to migrate here once Benj and Elijah have fallen asleep. They're sat in a corner on the couches.

Hudson sat on the couch. Val's sat on the floor in front of him, between his spread legs, all her hair thrown in a bun atop her head. Mindlessly playing with the hem of his sweatpants as she talks— and Ria's sat on the carpet with her. Her legs swung over Luca's, his arm locked around her thighs as he watches the last round of the boxing game on the screen. A bottle of tequila between the girls.

And Malibu's there. Corner of the couch. She isn't as smiley or relaxed as any of the rest of them— always in her own world but she's there anyways, and she's eased up a bit because Ria got to her and coaxed her with some tequila. Think Violet's been adamant at chipping away at her coldness, no matter how hard the effort is but I think she's using ballet as a way through. All these french words and choreographies I don't understand.

Don't know if it's working. Just know Ria keeps annoying Malibu on purpose, because she gets a kick out of it and Malibu might be starting to take too many sips of alcohol.

They're together again and I feel apart from them again but Everest Jones is besides me— and all feels better when he silently manages to find his way by my side.

I look at the alcohol, think for a moment, "Were you addicted?"

Everest's gaze finds my face for a moment. Glances over his shoulder to the shelves of alcohol and then looks away, breathing out, "I never called myself an alcoholic."

I remember it, though. He used to drink so much that in my head, alcohol and Everest were the same. At every party and he would party most nights— most of his days would blur into one from being in a constant state of hangover. But it wasn't so immediately alarming as it was with Hudson and his addiction because Everest had this way of making it seem casual, just had this way of getting away with it for years. As if it was just a part of his joker personality and the partyboy lifestyle instead of the reality— it was a crutch that he masked well.

"I can look back now," He starts, "And know that drinking during the day between classes at seventeen isn't healthy. Isn't something everything does."

"But you stopped." I say.