Prologue
“Hey babe,” Travie says. He kisses the top of my head roughly and I can smell the alcohol on his breath. My hearts drops; Travie is no fun when he’s drunk.
“How much have you had to drink?” I ask, pushing him away.
“Only a little,” he laughs, then hiccups.
“You told me you would try to quit,” I say.
“Don’t whine. You know I say a lot of things I don’t mean. God, you’re such a buzzkill,” he says sternly. I press my lips together and scoot over to sit on the couch.
He stretches out on the recliner, just like his dad used to. He’s almost a carbon copy of his dad, minus the beer belly. He belches loudly and scratches his stomach. “Why are you here again?” he asks.
“You… you invited me Trav,” I say. He knocks over the beer bottle on the table and I jump.
“Well,” he says after a minute, “Don’t just sit there, clean it up.” I hear him mutter, “Stupid,” under his breath. I go to get the broom and dust pan from the garage where they always keep it. I notice his kitchen is all packed up like… like they’re moving. I shake my head and continue to the garage.
Back in the family room, I sweep up his mess. Thankfully the bottle was empty, so it’s not that big of a hassle to clean up. I dump it in the trash and then sit back down on the couch.
“Why is your kitchen all packed up?” I ask carefully.
“Oh right! That’s why I invited you,” he says, closing the recliner and sitting up. I wait for him to continue. “Mom and I are moving. Something about it being too hard for her to sit in the house where my old man went bottom up,” he says.
I’m not really sure what to say, so I stare at the ground. “Stop doing that,” he says after a minute, “You look retarded.” I shift my weight around. “You gunna say anything?” I shrug. “You’re such an idiot. Taylor, I swear,” he says.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“We’re breaking up.”
“Why?” I ask quietly, even though I was hoping he would say that.
“Because you’re too much work to try and keep in touch with from hours away,” he says.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Stop apologizing, you sound dumb.”
“Sorry,” I spit out. Old habits die hard. I bite my lip and brace for impact.
“What did I just say?” he asks angrily, balling my shirt in his fist. He drops my shirt and heaves his dad’s chair across the family room. It smashes against the wall.
“Travis!” I shout. He stomps on the end table and glass flies in my direction. I shrink down in the corner and wait for him to tire himself out.
He smashes the table and two legs fly towards me. I tuck my head in-between my knees and cover my neck with my hands. I wait for him to finish with his hissy fit, counting the seconds in my head. A few more furniture pieces get smashes and broken before he stomps to his room and slams the door. I take in the aftermath before fleeing out the front door, leaving the toxicity of my past in the house with him. Most of it at least. I will always carry a part of him with me, I just hope that it’s the good parts and that he gets stuck with the bad.
