Beneath His Mask

Chapter 11- More (Zach's POV)

Hey guys :). Please don't kill me but this chapter is in Zach's perspective. I'm doing this because I feel like you guys need to know him more... get to know his story. I feel like I cannot proceed unless I put this next chapter out here.

So, enjoy! And also, before you flip out, this chapter is writing about something that happened in the past. 

Also, I'm posting another chapter tonight so stay tuned !

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"Just one more shot," Jennette says beside me, handing me a small glass with clear liquid in it. Ughhh, this is like, the fifth one and I don't know how much more I can take. You know what they say; beer before liquor makes you sicker. 

"Fine," I decide, accepting the offer from her. I'm drunk as hell already, and it's 1 am. A couple of kids gathered at Jennette's place to hang out for a little and things are getting out of hand.

My empty stomach churns, and I feel the bile rising in my throat.

Turning to the nearest trash can, I spew out the raw alcohol, grabbing my stomach as if it will stop. But it doesn't. It feels like forever I'm standing here, holding my gut, throwing up the contents of my stomach. My throat burns, my eyes burn, and I can't see where I'm going.

I need to call my sister.

When I'm done vomiting, I take out my phone and dial her number, messing up a few times and getting groggy answers from random people.

"Hello? Zachy are you ok?" Kelsey asks, clear concern and sudden awareness in her voice.

"I'm good, Kels. I need a ride home. Not feeling too hot," I manage to slur, taking a sip of water from a nearby cup.

"I'm on my way," she says. 

And that's the last I've ever heard from her. 

She was on her way here, and she got into an accident.

And died.

I blame myself. I was the one who made the stupid decision to get drunk underage. I was the one who overdid it. I was the one who got alcohol poisoning, and called her to pick me up. It was as if I was the one who crashed into her. It's all my fault.

And that's all I've thought ever since. 

Two years later, nothing is the same. I miss her blonde head of hair, her sparkling brown eyes. I miss her. My older sister, my role model, my partner in crime... and I lost her, all due to my stupid mistakes.

I should have died, not her.

I think this every day... and I regret it every single day.

When I got to the hospital that night after receiving the call, I was semi- sobered up. 

But what broke me was seeing her.

Fighting for her life on life support, my 22 year old sister lay lifeless and pale on the bed, strapped to machines. They controlled her last breaths... her living. And I had to decide to pull the plug.

She wasn't coming back.

Her legs and ribs broken, eyes black, face swollen, chest scarred from surgery. This is not my sister. She is not dying, I tell myself. But I know the truth. I did this to her. 

I sat there with her for days, getting no sleep and no medical attention for my own problems. 

I was the one who decided to pull the plug on her life. 

The two of us lived together in Bayville alone. It's always been that way, from as far back as I can remember. Foster parent to foster parent to foster parent... we were passed around like objects. Our aunts, our uncles... random people. We were broken kids not meant to be fixed, and no one knew what was going on. I still never tell people. 

So as soon as she had turned 18, we had moved out of our Aunt Carol's house. Luke, her son, offered us a place to live in his beach house. It's been that way ever since. My sister and I moved in with the guys and lived there happily.

Until she died.

Nothing has been the same. 

It's a drag, putting on a face for people. After that I made more mistakes than one can ever imagine, and I wish to take every one of them back. 

But I can't.