Something There

Chapter Twenty-Four

Songs for this chapter:
• Tequila - Dan + Shay
• Be Alright - Dean Lewis
• everytime - Ariana Grande
• Blind (Acoustic) - PRETTYMUCH

Chapter Twenty-Four:

Bryce's POV

"Fuck!" I yell, throwing the glass that's in my hand across the room and at the bricks of the fireplace, revelling in the sounds of the glass shattering followed by the shards falling to the ground.

I pick up another glass, repeating all the motions, but then deciding that this is the least efficient way to deal with my worries.

My next resort is to head straight for the liquor cabinet.

I find an unopened bottle of whisky, and figuring that my dad probably won't miss it, I pop it open, taking a large sip. It takes absolutely vile but I still welcome the bitter taste knowing that when the alcohol kicks in, it'll numb the pain a little.

I take another large gulp, stalking back over to the living room and taking a seat on the floor.

Though I'm careful not to sit directly in the glass, I pick up one of the shards between my fingers. It pierces through the skin, cutting the callous-free part of my fingertips. I let the drop of blood trickle down my hand before wiping it away on the black denim of my pants, taking another sip of whisky.

At moments like these, I fucking hate having such a high tolerance. I keep on drinking the awful amber concoction, growing to love the way it burns as it slides down my throat.

This is exactly why I shouldn't drag Blossom into my shit. Whenever I fuck up, I get drunk out of my mind rather than actually dealing with the issue.

Now I'm laying here, alone on the cold living room floor, after I just ruined the one good thing I've ever had.

I keep drinking until everything around me turns to black.

🌸🌸🌸

"Fuck you, Leo. You always get your damn way, and I think it's time to change that," she spits, her expression harsh but her hands shaking.

She keeps the gun pointed directly at my dad's face, but her hands are unsteady and I know she won't get a good shot when he's that far across the room.

"Sierra, just put the gun down," my dad says
calmly, daring to take a step towards her.

She straightens her arm out, the weapon jerking in her hand as she steps back away from him.

"Don't test me," she hisses.

"Mom, please just put the gun down," I plea, and she spins around, now directing it at me.

"Stay out of this, Bryce," she warns, and my dad takes this window of opportunity to run towards her, trying to grab the gun.

She spins around, realizing that she's about to lose her chance, and just as he reaches for the weapon, she pulls the trigger.

It all happens so fast, but the gunshot is loud, and my dad's scream is even more piercing.

"Fuck, Sierra!" he growls, gripping his shoulder where the bullet seemed to have entered. She has an evil glint in her eyes, and she's enjoying the view in front of her enough that I'm able to grab the gun right out of her hand.

"You're such a bitch," I say to her, grabbing her wrists when she tries to reach for the weapon again. I slide it across the counter to where my father is, and he picks it up and sets it down behind him.