Rekindle

18

Eight o' clock sharp, I was kicking the apartment door open and storming into the living room, rather enraged and lucky to find Alex sitting on the couch with a beer in hand. He was watching TV with a glazed look in his eye, not even fully comprehending my presence until I took his bottle and smashed it to shards on the ground. Glass shattered and beer stunk up the room, but I ignored it and stared him down as he slowly fell into fury. I had been angry the entire car ride and couldn't keep it pent up, much to Asher's annoyance.

"What the fucking hell Lacey—"

"Alex. You're wasting yourself."

"Fuck off," he mumbled, speech slurred, returning his attention to the TV.

Infuriated, I backhanded him across the face. The smack sounded as sharp as a foghorn. His hand immediately flew up to his cheek, coming down in search of blood.

Completely dumbstruck, he stared at me while I shook the pain out of my hand, still trying to appear dominate (even though the hit had actually hurt, a lot). He wasn't reaching for my neck, so that was a good thing. I had nothing else to say though, and then soon thereafter felt as if I had made another terrible mistake. It was a decision no comatose person would make, let alone cognizant me. I don't know, my judgment's always been pretty out of whack. Should've expected the plan of heroism to die in my face. Well, it's been fun. Time for death.

"Lacey," Alex stated.

I put my hands on my hips and rolled my shoulders back, clinging onto the fiber of confidence holding back the fear of what would come next. "Yes?"

"Straw!" he gleefully announced, standing up and giving me a giant hug. I stumbled backwards, crunching glass under my shoes as he towered over me, squeezing tight and quite disoriented. I thought I could feel the heat coming off his cheek.

"Uh, hey," I cautiously replied, looking to Asher for some sort of explanation. He shrugged his shoulders, as baffled as I was.

"You left and you messed up your pretty tree," he whined. "And Asher was all worried, like, 'Oh no, what if she killed herself', and I said, 'What? No, she wouldn't do that', and then you didn't. So I won."

"We didn't make a bet," Asher said.

"Shh, Asher James."

I laughed out of pure relief and hugged Alex's drunken self, disregarding the stench of beer and bad hygiene, relieved to know I wasn't dying because of some stupid justice move. It was a very good thing he was drunk, for once.

"You're going to sober up," I said, pulling away and returning to my motherly tone. "Got it?"

"Yeah, okay." He smiled and laid out on the couch, closing his eyes and falling asleep before I could utter another word.

I looked to Asher again, who smiled and shook his head, keeping laughter down. He started walking over to me, trying to avoid glass as best as he could, but it still crunched under his Converse. Eventually he faced me, and I faced him, examining his no longer lifeless face, gray eyes the shade of a comfy wool sweater instead of ice. "Think you got to him," he said, still smiling.

"I hope so," I replied. "Or all this mess was for nothing." I gestured to the broken glass around us. Asher picked me up and slung me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes again, carrying me away from the wreckage and into my room. I chuckled as he plopped me down onto the bed, rifling through my closet, throwing me pajamas. "Wait, what are you doing?" I asked, catching a t-shirt.

"I'll take care of the mess," he said, tossing me my sweatpants. "You sleep." Ash turned and leaned against the doorframe, smiling just the slightest.