Burnouts 2: Without Butterflies

Waiting on the Weakened

Scene 1: Rivington Street

Danny Cole

My dad crashed his car into our house last night.

It didn't go all the way through, he's still alive, and the fucking airbags didn't even deploy—but he got wasted and drove the fucking car into the fucking house.

The phone rang in the kitchen. It made my stomach hurt, but I've been expecting it.

"Hello," I answered, my voice raspy and my throat burning from throwing up.

"I'm sorry, Danny."

"It's fine."

"You shouldn't have to deal with this." He sighed. "I'm...gonna talk to somebody, okay?"

"Okay."

"I know I really messed up this time. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," I mumbled again. I'm not shedding another fucking tear because of this prick.

"There's medicine for it, you know? It'll make me sick if I even smell the stuff."

"Alright."

"Don't worry about the house. Insurance will take care of it. Did anyone knock?"

"No, the neighbor put up a tarp."

"Good. He's a good guy,"

"Yeah."

"That's all, then."

"Bye."

"I love you-"

I hung the phone up.

I want to drink what's left in the house.

After everyone left, I smoked some weed to calm myself down and ended up curled in a ball crying like a fucking girl. Getting high made me think about how shitty my life is and how I have to take care of everything if my dad went to rehab...and how much worse I'll feel when he relapses.

So I had a drink on his behalf. Enough to have me puking a couple hours later.

And I'd do it again...just so I won't have to think about anything today or feel something other than sick.

Matter of fact—I will do it again.

There's a bottle of gin waiting for me next to a half empty beer I was using as a chaser before I blacked out.

It tastes as bad going down as it does coming back up.

Especially with what I ate...and what I'll probably be eating again. Cold fries that came with a sub I got a couple days ago. There's also freezer burned hotdogs I can throw in a pan. And another case of beer because dear old dad would never go without.

My aunt told him that if he doesn't stay sober, she's considering yesterday the day he died.

It feels like that. Like he's dead and I didn't realize that him dying meant more than me not having a dad anymore.

I can't believe I'm left to pick up pieces.

The phone rang again and I groaned loudly. What the fuck does he want now?

I yanked the phone off the post. "What?"

"Hi, Danny," Heather said.

"...What do you want?"

"I think my bracelet fell off at Jordan's house. I remember having it on in the room, so maybe that's where I lost it. Could you ask him for me?"

"Yeah. Why didn't you get your boyfriend to go by and see?"