Hello, Again

Chapter 14 (Part 2)

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Everything will break
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A/N – This may sound presumptuous, but it'd be absolutely amazing if you'd read Part 1 of Chapter 14 first, as I've tried very hard to link the two. Also, thanks for sticking with me through these past two months!

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"C'mere, Adam."

Adam froze in his tracks, jumping at the sound as Rosalinda's sweet voice rang in the night's silence. Composing himself, he tugged at his collar and turned to face the matronly woman, who was leaning against the mantel, her apron clutched in her (newly wrinkled) hand.

"It's two in the morning, child."

"I know", Adam whispered, "I'm sorry."

"I know you're not", said Rosalinda, sighing deeply as she saw the grin spread on his face, and stepped closer towards him, as he sheepishly looked at the floor.

At seventeen, a six foot one Adam towered over the short woman. This wasn't one of those times.

Rosalinda, to his surprise, barely looked at him and swept past him towards the kitchen. Sensing (as he always did) that something was amiss, he approached the woman and placed a tender hand on her shoulder.

"Is everything okay, Rosie?"

"Your father is home. He came an hour ago."

Adam felt the air being sucked out of his lungs.

"Does he – did he know I was out?"

"I said you were at a friend's place – a sleepover – and I think he bought it."

The momentary feeling of dread passed and was replaced with unfathomable anger, as per usual.

Adam scoffed and stepped past Rosalinda, the anger bubbling inside him like acid, and moved towards the cabinets to avoid making eye contact with the woman

"So, how out was he?"

"What d'you mean?"

"He came at one in the morning, Rosie. On a weekend. The Japanese don't run business meetings round that time usually, do they?"

Rosalinda said nothing.

Adam knew all about picking at scabs – he knew just how his father reeked of scotch, how his jowls sagged and his mouth trembled in his stupor – how detached he was from the world and his children and everything that might've ever needed his attention. Everything except his business, which Adam deduced he needed to buy all the booze in the first place.

Adam was the not-so-proud owner of a functional alcoholic father.

He tried very hard to make it look like it was all a big joke.

The fact ate away at him every day, despite how blasé he acted about it, stealing his father's liquor and hitting the streets at night, tagging walls and watching his friends chug down expensive whiskey, denying the bottle himself but revelling in their drunken revelry all the same, the sweet odour clawing at his insides as he supressed the urge to gag every time they opened a bottle and took a swig. He couldn't fathom how anyone could ever relish it – let alone wash away their lives in it, but he was the rich daddy's boy with the bad attitude and some things just followed the moniker, he surmised.

When he returned every night, the familiar stench would gnaw at his heart and make him dizzier than any scotch ten years down the line would ever manage.