Brightside | ✓

44 | mess it up

Eddie's days became routine in light of her suspension. She'd go to the gym for hours at a time—a local one, non-sanctioned—and workout until she was sore. Hope that someone saw her and was looking to coach a professional boxer because they were the world's best coach and wanted someone to represent, nobody ever approached her to make that dream come true. Then, she'd find herself at a bar where she could convince drunk men to buy her shots. Eddie was entirely too good at playing dumb that by the time she slipped out of the bar before things got bad, the men didn't even notice she'd left. After a night of drinking, she'd stumble back to August's house in the early hours of the morning and hope that she made it back to the air mattress in the nursery. (The time she hadn't, Lockwood had tripped over her practically comatose body by the front door and kicked her in the face on his way down.)

And so, the routine continued.

Until that night. Early August. A light was still on by the time she was at step four, getting home. Eddie checked her phone to see if maybe it was earlier than she'd expected. It wasn't. Bad sign. She looked around; down the road illuminated by streetlights. Even if she could managed to put one foot in front of the other, she had nowhere else to go. She let herself into the house and tried to stay quiet. If she could make it to her mattress in time, maybe there was the chance that she could convince whoever else was up that she'd been there all night.

But, just like when she tried to sneak back in as a highschooler, August was waiting for her. A perfect view of the front door. And she didn't look happy. Tired? Yes. Happy? Absolutely not.

"That baby keeping you up?" Eddie could hear the drunkenness of her own voice. That was humbling. "Tell them I'll fight them. Can't be doin' that to my sister."

August didn't laugh. The light from the small lamp beside her made the bags under her eyes look like bruises. "Eddie, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to bed—"

"I mean..." August sighed and waved her hand in Eddie's general direction. "Fuck, Eddie, is this what you're gonna look like for the next year?"

"I'm actually hoping to put on more muscle." She flexed her bicep like she was at a bodybuilding show. Free invite to the gun show, with a right to bare arms. Eddie didn't think her stinky muscle tank was doing her any favours.

"I don't think drinking until you pass out is how you gain muscle."

"That's why I'm an athlete and you're a tattooer. Tattoo... guy. Artist. Tatto artist." Eddie pointed a finger at her. Sort of. August was blurry. "Small business owner, too. Wow."

August stood up from the armchair she was sitting in. Walked to the edge of her living room and leaned against the doorframe. "I know that you're having a bad time. And I'm really trying to sympathize with you. I promise, I am. I even respect the difficulty of the situation more than you might think."

"Did you, like, rehearse this—"

"You can't live like this, Eddie."

"I'm figuring some stuff out—"

"How long's that gonna take?" August asked. "You were pulling stupid shit before you got suspended."

"We've all done stupid shit—"

"You flew to Florida and didn't tell anyone, Eddie." August crossed her arms. Fuck, she looked tired. "I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere and then you got home and didn't even apologize—"