A Waltz With Wolves (Book II in The Harrison Inc. Series) | ✓

Chapter Two: The Enemy of My Enemy

***

SEBASTIAN

In case you haven't noticed, my life is in fucking shambles.

I've had bad days, bad weeks, and even bad months, but these past three days has been the hardest time I've been through in a while. Barricading myself in my house isn't exactly my initial response to my closet's skeletons being let loose to the world, but per Sarah's orders, I've been stuck indoors for three days. Three goddamn days.

The week was going pretty well at first. I had dinner with Leslie on Monday night right before I fucked her brains out later that said evening, and from there I was actually starting to feel "whole" or something like that; as if a piece of me that I never knew was missing had finally been returned to me.

But then I found out that she lied to me...and leaked my journal...and disrespected Gloria and I's bond right in my face.

I guess I should have seen this shit coming. In truth, I am an asshole for having Felicity and Courtney (or Claire, right?) in the same bed. In my defense, though, the sex wasn't even that great; I snorted a bit too much and got carried away. But that doesn't give Leslie the right to leak my journal, for Christ's sake.

And Sarah's idea of trying to fix it was to invite Leslie and I to read some script for some interview I have to do about the journal. Who the fuck do they think I am; is this supposed to "mend my image" before I meet with the Board next week? Bullshit.

Leslie couldn't even look at me the entire time. She has this vacant look in her eyes, like a sad puppy dog. Was that supposed to make me feel bad? Probably so. Jesus, I don't even know what to feel anymore.

When I get home, I head straight to my room, ignoring Viv's concerned and agitated calls to me from my living room. These three days have been routine: drink, sleep, eat so I don't die, and sleep again. Viv hates going to the grocery store just to buy shit that will ruin my liver even more.

"You drink because you're sad? Life is sad, then you die. Get over it." She said to me before she left to the grocery store yesterday evening.

I know Claude feels the same way Viv does, but he's more reserved about it. All he's been doing was remind me that my meeting with the Board (fantastic that my father will be there) is dawning, and I need to be ready to make my case. I could care less; the Board can kiss my ass.

"Sebastian," Claude says to me as I walk up the staircase.

"I need to go over the script—"

"You're not gonna go over that script," he replies. He isn't wrong. "What you're doin' to yourself? Sulking over what happened between you and Leslie? It's doin' you no favors."

"Who gives a shit what I'm doing, Claude? I can't go outside, I can't use my phone, I don't even make my own decisions on what I want and don't want to do; I'm a prisoner in my own goddamn house! So if I want to lay in bed, let me!"

I've never snapped at Claude like that. Ever. We used to be closer in my earlier years after I finished college, and even then when I was a bit more reckless I never released my anger onto him. But it's different now.

I drink the rest of whatever is left in the bottle on my bedside table, paired with some painkillers. My room is dark and quiet. I love and hate it at the same time.

My eyes start closing, and just like yesterday, I start to drift off into an alcohol-induced sleep. I can hear my dad in my ear right now.

"Pathetic! This is what you do when a girl breaks your heart? How will you lead my company if this is how you deal with your shit?"