(RIVALS) The Upside of Falling ✔️

Chapter 11: Blur

Becca

It was mesmerizing, but also terrifying.

He never stopped. Each bottle he consumed was replaced by a new one instantly.

One. Two. Three. Four.

I lost count after he chugged the fifth one. I watched him in awe.

I knew it was wrong. Every part of me was screaming to stop it. To pull the bottle away from his lips and stop the next drop from sliding down his throat, but I couldn't.

I knew the pain he felt -- I had seen it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch and heard it in his voice. It was heartbreaking.

Brett was one of a kind. He was always smiling, so carefree and full of life. The sadness and pain etched into his face tonight was foreign. It didn't belong on a face as friendly as his.

He wanted to forget, was that too much to ask for? There were endless nights after my father left that I wished I could forget; forget all the good memories we ever shared and, more importantly, forget all the sadness, all the pain. But I couldn't forget. I was too young at the time, too reliant on those around me.

Brett's not young. He's an adult and he's sure as hell more than capable of making his own decisions. Did I agree with what he was doing right now? Of course not. But I was here with him and I would look out for him, the same way he always looked out for me.

He picked up a new bottle, popped the cap and pressed the cold glass against his lips.

Tonight, he will forget.

Brett

It burned.

My throat was on fire. I couldn't think. I couldn't see straight. I couldn't even remember my name.

And it was fucking awesome.

Every sip wiped away the pain. In this moment, my father didn't matter. My screwed up family was the least of my concerns. All that I cared about was this bottle in my hand and the curious girl watching me from afar.

Her big blue eyes were wide in awe as she stared at me. She never looked away, not once. I knew Becca disapproved. Hell, even I disapproved. I was being an idiot, but sometimes the pain just gets the best of us.

My mothers voice cut through my mind like a knife in my side.

"He's home, Brett! He finally came back to us."

Her voice is what killed me. The hope, the love, was so apparent as she went on and on about how happy she was that my father came home.

It made me sick. I was disgusted by my own mother. The woman I loved more than anything in the entire world disgusted me. I hated myself for feeling that.

I wanted to drive home to be there for her, to wake her from this illusion and remind her that it was a lie -- that he didn't love us and he never did. But I was afraid to go home. Afraid that when I saw his face this time, his stupid, arrogant face that looked too much like mine, I would do something much worse than punch him.

So I did the next best damn thing: I drank.

And every sip fixed the gaping, father-sized hole in my heart.

My mother's words faded into the background as the alcohol burned its way down my throat. The burning was so intense that it engulfed all my other senses. My vision began to blur and I felt light on my feet.

I lifted the bottle up and savoured the last drops. It was empty.

I reached out and grabbed another one, desperately bringing it to my lips as fast as I could.