Life With Mr. Malik (ON HOLD)

Chapter 18: Separation Anxiety

I woke up with the sickest headache ever, and without giving it much thought, I concluded that 1. Alcohol was definitely not for me and I could live without it. 2. Drunk Miles was a million times worse than Ordinary Miles, given the fact that I sounded more like a two year-old than an eighteen year-old, and 3. I was never, under any circumstances, going to let Zayn see said type of Miles ever again! With my head spinning, I got out of bed and went to check myself in the mirror.

Messy hair. Sunken eyes.

Yep, meet Zayn Malik's girlfriend on and off camera.

I looked so ugly, I could probably make the Grinch look desirable. Groggily, I shuffled out of my room like an old man and took at least fifteen minutes to descend a flight of staircase . . . with only ten steps. When I got down, my mom took one look at me, shook her head and went to the fridge, handing me a bottle seconds later.

"What is this?"

"Hangover cure." She said without looking at me as she walked to the dining table where Connor and Elliot were surrounded with their new artworks. "Miles is a little off today, guys." Mom said to my little brothers as if I were some sort of beast that was not to be bothered.

Deciding to ignore what she said, I took a swig and nearly gagged, my throat clearly refusing to admit the liquid. "What in the Lord's name is this? Were you trying to kill me?"

Whatever it was tasted like it was meant to worsen my condition. Not only did I have a headache the size of Asia, but my tastebuds weren't having such a blast either. This was turning out to be my worst morning in the Everley household.

And I've never had bad mornings in the Everley household.

"Pickle juice. Oh and Miles dear, brush up on your Ten Commandments, will you?"

"What, why?"

"Thou shall not use the Lord's name in vain, honey."

I put back the pickle juice in the fridge and went to sit opposite Connor and Elliot, watching them draw with my cheek resting on a fist. "I don't really get commandments. Like, I know they're there to keep you out of trouble with God. And yeah, you're probably going to sprout some angel wings and have afternoon tea with Him and the angels and saints if you live out all ten every day, but I never really thought of them as laws." I paused to scratch my cheek. "They're more like suggestions, aren't they?"

My mom stared at me like she was debating whether or not she wanted to just give herself a facepalm or smack the back of my head. In the end, she sighed and sat down next to me, placing her hand on top of mine.

"Miles, your dad and I have been thinking about what you're going through and you in general a lot." She said in the same tone a kindergarten teacher might use on a toddler, trying to teach him that two plus two equals four. "And we agreed that it'd be good for you if you got away from all of this and had the chance to experience life the way a typical eighteen year-old would."

I stared at our hands because I didn't know where else to look. It was getting really really awkward.

"What are you trying to say . . ."

"We want to send you to University."

The moment she said those words, I bolted straight to the bathroom, puking last night's food and drinks into the toilet. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand.

"Gross," I whined.

"You should think about that the next time you decide to drink." Mom said from the doorway. She approached me, squatted and removed the strands of hair hanging just above my upper lip, tucking them behind my ear. "We're just afraid that last night might be the start of a wilder and more uncontrollable Miles."