A Crippled Love

The One With The Make-Up

        

        The next day I woke with crust in my eyes and dried tear streaks on my cheeks. I groaned as I flipped over on the bed, burying myself in the pillows. I made a fool out of myself yesterday. I had cried in front of Mr. Volkolv like a baby, and he was right-- I was being unprofessional. Caretakers were only there to take care of the quadriplegic, not to pull dumb pranks and fight. 

        "Peighton? Why are you still in bed? Don't you have work?" My sister yawned as she entered our room with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. She noticed my gross face and was instantly by my side. "Are you okay? You look... dead."

        I sniffled. "I'm fine. I called in sick. I'm allowed a few sick days."

        "Really? You're 'sick'? Or did something happen at work?" She questioned, taking a sip from her cocoa. I suppressed a smile at the tiny mustache that formed on her upper lip.  

        "Just something my boss said to me." I muttered, "I cried in front of him. It was embarrassing and I never want to show my face again."

        Leighton gasped, "He made you cry? What did he say? I'm going to go there right now and smack some sense into him!" 

        I gave her a weak smile. "It's alright, Leighton. Nothing serious. He said something... and it made me think of mom and dad. Nothing serious." 

        "Why would he bring up mommy and dad?" She questioned angrily, her fingers gripping the handle of the mug tightly. "That's none of his business!" 

        I sighed. "It kind of was my fault," I murmured as I took the mug from her, ignoring the glare she sent towards me, "I did something I shouldn't have. I breached his privacy." 

        She took the mug back before I could take a sip. "What did you do? Read his diary?"

        "No. I was looking through his bathroom drawer for some medicine and found this paper with some... surprising information on it." I shivered as I recalled what I had read. Mr. Volkolv seemed to have such a strong backbone... I couldn't imagine him lying on the floor with empty drug containers surrounding him. 

        "Why would you need medicine?" She asked curiously. 

        I cleared my throat, scratching the back of my neck sheepishly. "I, um-- went to, um-" I coughed, "a party."

        She gasped and dropped her chocolate. In turn, I gasped and stared at the broken mug on the floor. The hot chocolate slowly seeped into the carpet, and I looked at the delicious treat with remorse as it slowly disappeared. Leighton didn't seemed too concerned as she stared at me with her mouth open wide.

        "You went to party? I don't believe you. What, did you go to the supermarket and slip in the cleaning products aisle again? I told you to wear your crocs when you go there!" She scolded, and I couldn't help but let out a tiny laugh. 

        "Please, like I would wear those ugly things. I may be poor but I have fashion sense," I scoffed, and then rolled my eyes, "but I did actually go to a party. And I got drunk. Like hammered. It was terrible." I winced as I recalled my brief memory loss and hangover. 

        "Really?" Leighton asked, her eyes wide, "What does alcohol taste like?"

        "You don't need to know. I don't want you to drink it, ever," I berated, and then added, "it's tastes like old pee."

        She made a disgusted face. "Ew! Gross!" Then, looking down at the mess she made, she let out a resigned sigh. "I guess there's no chance of me getting you to clean this mess up for me, huh?"