more than this | grayson dolan (book one)

seven

I place my hands behind my head as I stare up at my cracked ceiling. I have been laying in bed for two hours, unable to move due to the fact that my head won't stop pounding. That is the last time I drink straight vodka. Last night was terrible, but I already knew it was going to be.

My throat feels dry and scratchy when I swallow, causing me to let out a sigh. Sitting up causes a sharp pain to pierce my skull. I slowly get out of bed and look at myself in the mirror.

My hair is tied up into a messy bun and i'm wearing a baggy Rolling Stones t-shirt with black sweatpants. I look like I just died and came back to life. I make my way downstairs and head for the kitchen, in desperate need of an advil.

Shock takes over my face when I see my father bent over the inside of the refrigerator, staring into it with wide eyes. It's two in the afternoon on a Sunday, why the hell is he here? I shrug my shoulders and push past him.

"Where's the rest of the beer?" He slurs as he turns to look at me.

"How should I know?" I mutter as I open the cabinet.

"There's nothing in here." He runs a hand through his dirty hair as he looks back at the empty refrigerator.

"Shocker." I reply as I pull out the bottle of advil.

"Go get me more." He angrily demands.

"No." I turn my body to look at him. His eyes are so red and glossy, he's barely able to keep them open.

"Excuse me?" He tilts his head as he glares at me. "I am your father, you do as I say."

"I'm not even old enough to buy alcohol, go bother Jake." I roll my eyes at him.

"Go to the store, now!" He wobbles closer to me, yelling in my face.

"Get away from me." I take a step back from him. "You're drunk, but that's your usual state of mind."

"You are one nasty little girl, disrespecting your father." His words are all jumbled as he speaks them.

"Oh please, you aren't a father." I push past him, trying to get out of the kitchen. His large hand tightly grips my wrist, pulling me back toward him.

"You better get in that fucking car and head over to the liquor store." He squeezes my wrist even harder, causing me to gasp.

"Let go of me!" I scream as loud as I can.

"Goddamnit, Stella!" My father screams at me, struggling to stay still. The loud thud of footsteps rushing down the stairs get closer as Jake rushes into the kitchen.

"What the fuck is going on?" His eyes widen when he sees our father harassing me.

"He won't let go." I pull my wrist as hard as I can, finally releasing it to freedom.

"Don't you ever put your hands on my sister again." Jake lightly pulls on my shoulder to move me away from him.

"What are you, a tough guy now?" My father heavily laughs.

"I'm a father figure, cause you aren't." Jake practically spits at him.

"Both of you are such wastes." My father slurs again as he wobbles in his shoes.

"Just stay at the bar next time and don't even bother coming home." I hold my wrist, which is starting to throb. I look back at Jake before walking toward the front door.

"Where are you going?" He rushes after me.

"I need to get out of this house." I sigh as I stare into his depressed eyes.