❝The only kind of love I want is one where even if it is just for a short moment, it feels like I have lived a lifetime in that moment with that person. ❞ - Jhanvi Raichand.
**You CANNOT read this as standalone. Read Dare to Be before reading this...
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2.11 Lost On You
Using my set of keys, I unlock to door of the apartment. With a mission, I march over to the bedroom and sure enough, my suspicions are correct. Under the blankets was a body passed out. A bottle of scotch at the side table. Leaning over, I grab the edge of the blanket and pull it back.
"Noah Anderson Smith, get your drunk ass out of my bed!" I raise my voice in a scolding to wake him up.
I may not care for the guy who was his father, but it was unacceptable for Noah to be hungover on the day of his funeral.
He groans, trying to reach for the blanket and cover himself, "Go away, Annie." I wait for a second before it registers and he springs up in bed, his eyes flying open. "Annie?! What are you doing here?"
"It is my apartment, doofus."
He cringes in a late reaction as the sudden motion of sitting up must have felt like someone was pounding hammers in his head with that nasty hangover. I know those mornings one too well.
I give him a second and take the moment to walk over to the closet. Even if it were my apartment, I had given him the keys for him to crash here. It made no sense for him to pay rent at another place when I wasn't here more than half the year. Sure enough, all of his things were messily put in the closet. The mess went over my head as I skimmed through the hangers to find a decent white dress shirt and putting together an outfit for the funeral.
Walking back to the bed, I lightly throw it on his lap. "Come on. Up and in the shower."
He reopens his eyes, pulling his head back from his palm where he had been clutching it, to eye the clothes I handed him. He scoffs at once, pushing them away. "You have finally lost your marbles if you think I am going to attend that sorry excuse of a man's funeral."
I scold him with a sharp glance, "Noah, drop that attitude and go get ready! I'm not letting you miss your father's funeral. It's a regret you don't get to come back from."
"Annie, no," he remains stubborn getting out of bed and picking up the half drunk bottle of scotch.
"Damn it, Noah." I mutter walking over and snatching away the bottle before he could take a swing. "Drinking isn't going to make it go away."
He rolls his eyes, disagreeing, but not making any attempt to take back the bottle. He must have some sense left in his brain telling him he was badly hungover and drinking some more was not going to make it any better.
With a sigh, I sit next to him and rest my chin on his shoulder. I say a soft voice, "I know, Noah."
He asks, such sadness in his voice that it pulls the strings in my heart. "He hurt you, Annie. Out of everyone, why are you here wanting me to go to his funeral?"
