Young and Loaded

Chapter Eight

  "What the fuck, Poison?"

   Those were the first four words that greeted me as I walked back to the Diner after my little plotting session.

   Little did I know that Ghoul had decided to actually follow me on my walk, listened to my drunk self proclaim things that I was going to make happen whether he liked it or not, and was now criticizing me for it. That wasn't fair. Nothing seemed to be fair with Ghoul anymore, particularly our relationship. Then again, we haven't had a proper, healthy relationship in two fucking years.

   I sighed as I continued to trudge my way through the sand, my boots kicking it up. It spread into the air and got in my eyes, but that just made me laugh. It stung. I didn't care. And Ghoul didn't either. Instead, he followed, struggling to keep up with how fast I was walking. But I wasn't about to slow down for him. "What?" I responded harshly. I was still incredibly drunk. I knew that. And added to all of this fun shut, I still had adrenaline coursing in my veins — rushing like water from a functioning hose — from the way all those killjoys hyped me up. They made me feel like a real leader for the first time in years.

   Two years, to be exact.

   "The hell was that back there?"

   "The hell was what, asshole?" I shot back, planting my feet in the sand and whirling around. I wasn't in the right state of mind to deal with his bullshit. Didn't want to deal with it. I felt hazy and drunk, on the verge of collapse.

   I just wanted to make it back to the Diner so I could collapse on the cold, concrete floor instead of leave myself out to rot in the sun for the vultures.

   Ghoul looked at me like he didn't know me, scoffing. "What do you mean? You have a fucking death wish! No fuckin' way are you going to just—"

   "I can do whatever the fuck I want, Ghoul. Leave me alone."

   I started to walk again. The foggy mess in my head made me hope I was imagining the sound of sand crunching beneath boots following me. Made me hope that Ghoul wasn't insistently calling out my name every five seconds in an attempt to make me stop again. I wasn't going to stop. I wasn't going to let myself stop and take the smaller man in my arms. I wasn't going to kiss him in my drunken stupor. Or let him kiss me.

   Not falling for that fucking trick again. Nope. No way.

   "Poison, if you don't stop right now, I'll—I'll kill Grace."

   That was what got to me. "You'll what?" I found myself growling, my hands clenching. Flexing. Clenching again. All feelings of being in control had been thrown out the second I had placed a bottle to my lips, breaking my clean streak. My sobriety was gone. But this was a new level of control that had been lost. And I wasn't sure I wanted to let go of it just yet.

   But control escaped me as I stopped mid-stride and turned around to face Ghoul. He didn't look scared of me. No, he looked defiant and stubborn, two traits he'd either been born with or stole from me like the leeching parasite he is. Little did he know that I was angrier than I looked. Had I been sober, I could've identified that he was clearly bluffing. But I was drunk. Not thinking straight. Ready to kill Ghoul with my bare hands if he made one wrong move or one wrong statement.

   And that was the wrong statement to make.

   Ghoul met my murderous, intoxicated gaze with a passive-aggressive and unfairly sober one. Though I could've sworn I saw a hint of desperation in there. "I said I'll kill Grace," he repeated more clearly, lifting his chin up at me in a way to just defy me that much more.

   "You can't."

   "Sure I can."

   I frowned, taking a not-so-calculated step forwards, nearly falling face-first into the sand. All thanks to the alcohol in my veins. God, I made a mistake in drinking so much in one night. At least I came up with a good idea in the process. "No. I'll kill you first," I snarled at him, reaching for my ray gun.