In Need of Earl Grey

Chapter Nine

    My face is half stuck to a cool metal bench bolted to a wall. Somethings oft and cold is on my back. A grey blanket is tossed across my back and my front is naked. Where are my clothes? I pull the blanket around myself and sit up.
    "Aye yah," I voice says to my left, "Pretty boi is up,"
    I jerk my head to the sound and the room erupts into light and sound and nausea. The room burst into many people's laughter and after the room stops spinning I see who it is and where I am. I'm in a concrete jail cell. The cell across from mine is packed with men and a group of them are staring at me and laughing and joking with one another.
    "Aye pretty boy come over hear and suck this," they erupt into laughter and my head splits with pain.
    "Boy," A bigger man calls to me, I turn to him slowly. He humps the bars separating our cell and they laugh again. "You're in my cell. If you weren't a minor half of us would be in there and not crammed in here."
    "You're disgusting," I say. He spits on me. I turn away and lift towel to wipe my face. They cheer at the sight of my butt. I tuck the blanket around my waist.
    "Back it on up," Says one of the inmates. I sit down way on the other end of the cell. A door on the other end of a long hall makes a loud click and a guard walks in. A strong looking woman that looks like she could beat ass better than any of the convicts in here. She scowls at them and they stop jeering immediately. She carries a small grey bag that he slides in a slot into my cell.
    "On. Quickly," She commands. I open the bag and see my clothes from last night. They smell horrible, like fire and weed, skunks and alcohol, and mostly vomit. I pull on my shirt and cringe and it's moistness. I pull my pants on over the blanket and leave the briefs in there. There's no way I'm touch those.
    The guard unlocks my cell and puts me in hard plastic zip tie cuffs before escorting me to an office. Once in the office she shuts the door and sits behind her desk.
    "What are you doing in here kid?" Her voice sounds ladened with disappointment and dismay. I can't meet her eyes so they drift to her name tag: Dara.
    "I don't know," heat pricks but tears do not fall.
    "Honey, don't be like them," Her dark hand points back to the cells, "Don't make this your regular. You gotta pull yourself together. I don't look at her. "What's your name?"
"Drew. Andrew Swoush," I say, almost at a whisper.
"Okay Andrew, can you remember your phone number?"
"We don't have a home phone, just Dad's cell,"
"What is it?"
I recite the number.
"Well, I can give him a call and he'll pick you up ri-"
"No!" I cut her off, "Nononono no! He can not know I'm here just let me stay here and die or whatever don't call him!"
"I can't. This is not a juvenile center and you technically weren't arrested,"
"Oh god. No. No," I pull my knees to my chest in the chair and rock a little. She leaves me there for a few minutes, but when she returns Dad is with her. He sits in the chair beside me and she returns to the seat behind the mahogany desk.
"He was already in the lobby, baby,"
Sweaty tears of shame and self pity pierce through my pinched eyelids.
"Dad,"
"We'll talk later," He busies himself with paper work and a long discussion with Dara. My head throbs a little more with each tear, but soon we left.  Dad's car was outside in the jail parking lot. It was dark outside and the weather was brisk. When he started the car the clock read 4:00. In the morning? I was dead before but now I had made Dad get at 4 in the morning before work. Oh, no.
"Dad,"
A vein throbs on his neck, "Not now."
The car falls back into silence as Dad drive and I lay my head against the door and try to sleep. The car rattles over a pot hole and I grit my teeth in pain. The skies are dark and heavy and seem to weigh down on my brain. I squeeze my eyes shut but the swirling whirling feeling settles in my stomach then my throat.
    "Pull over," I urge. He obliges. I get out of the car and pace. We pulled next to a field, flat and sprawling out into the night. It would've been beautiful if I weren't utterly ruining the moment by vomiting on the side of an empty road. My eyes begin to water and sting as my stomach loses last nights lasting bits.
    "Oh god," I put my hands on my knees. Clear vomit erupts from my guts. I sputter and cough. Dad leans against the car looking off in the opposite direction. I breathe shakily for a while before getting back into the car. What's he going to do when we get home. Veins are still quivering and shaking out of control on my neck and I have no idea what's happening on that head of his.
    I turn to him and look at his neck, red with anger, eyes, straight ahead and unmoving. His hairline has gotten grey, almost white. Is it stress causing this, or only old age? Stress over work and life, instead of stress over me? He's going to kill me.
    Like actual real life murder. I'm done for. If he doesn't kill me he'll take my phone and laptop and speakers and life. How do I say I'm sorry? How do I? How do I do this? My mind spins and jumps and dances and screams, yells and nags. How do I say this? How do I say this! Someone help me oh my god! I hate this. My head begins to ache and pound from alcohol or overthinking I'll never know.
I'm crying by the time we've gotten back in the car and bawling by the time we are pulling into the drive way.
"Pull yourself together and say hi to your brother. He fucking thought you were dead when you never came home," He gets out and goes inside the house. Seth was worried about me? I run into the house and sprint into his room. He's in his bed with his back towards the door.
"Seth?" He rolls over and pounces at me like a cat. His lean arms wrapped around my torso and head to my smelly shirt. I kiss his head and whisper in his ear, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"I thought you," I stammers and cries.
"I'm sorry. I will never. I will never,"
He pushes me away and jumps back in his bed, "You're so selfish. Did you even think about us last night? Don't even talk to Hannah. She said if you come home leave her alone. I can't believe you, Drew,"
I walk back into the kitchen where Dad is leaning on the counter with his head down. His eyes are bloodshot and tired looking. How long has he looked like this?
"Dad-"
"You've lost it." He snaps. I'm thrown off at his out burst, "You've really lost it! I'm at the end oh my rope. My actual wits end with you and your crazy last minute outbreaks of hysteria! You are purposefully trying to ruin everyone's life and your own. I am utter disappointed with you. Like 100%," He looks me dead in the eye. I stammer something and try to redeem myself from what just happened, but nothing comes, so I run to my run and fall to my knees in front of my bed. Why am I who I am? No! Why am I what I am? Because I'm obviously some kind of house wrecking, ass hole, monster. A monster. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm. so. sorry.