BOYS OF SUBURBIA [boy x boy] [Wattys 2018]

✗ FOURTY-EIGHT ✗

The orange bottle of Hydrocodone felt like an anchor in his hand. The pills had been crushed; white powders shimmering underneath a veneer of orange translucent

"JULIET!" His mother, who had been scooping ice from the refrigerator, flinched at the sound of Greg yelling.

"Y-yes?" she stuttered.

"Where's my fucking drink?"

Juliet's lips tightened and her eyes drooped; her shoulders were trembling. "It's coming," she promised; her voice was faded, crackling and faint. Sebastian closed his eyes. He hated this. He hated being so powerless and feeling like he couldn't help her. He tried; he really tried. After the accident of Greg breaking the bottle on her, causing shards to slash into her cheeks, Violet reported to the police. But when the police came, his mother was too scared to admit the truth and Greg had cleaned up, putting on this facade of nice and kind. When the police left, disgruntled and confused at being bothered, Greg yelled at Violet and said he was going to use her college funds to pay off their mortgage. When Sebastian suggested to his mother of running away, she said they couldn't. She had a joint account with Greg. If she tried to empty the account, Greg would know before they could even leave.

So they were stuck, with this horrible, horrible man. Sebastian couldn't remember a time when Greg was semi-decent; maybe when his mother started dating him. Back then, he put up such a good front. He wasn't extremely rich but he worked at a stable job as a financial consultant. They dated for a good two years before Greg moved in and married her. And that was when things became ugly. Having Greg around was like having a loud, smelly rug in the flat. Greg smoked, drank and only went out to go to the pub almost every weekend, making his mother cry whenever he stopped spending time with her to go out with his mates. Greg always criticized him- hated that Sebastian wasn't the type of boy who played rugby or football or did manly bullshit. And ever since he was fired from his job last year, Greg's attitude worsened. He went from condescending asshole and borderline alcoholic to a mean, abusive piece of shit who refused to let his mother go.

He wanted him gone.

"Mom," he called out, emerging from his room with the bottle heavy inside his pockets.

"What do you fucking want?" Greg sneered at him; his puce face ugly and stretched as he was lounging on the couch like some fat lard, watching Katie Price on the telly. His whole face was red, suggesting signs of some form of inebriation. Sebastian thought Good. Get drunk, you fuck. Makes my job easier. "She's making my drink, don't distract her."

"Hey, mom, Violet-uh- Violet wants you." He had run this by Violet, who had grimly agreed to it. Violet would distract their mother, pretending to need help with something as Sebastian sneaked six tablets of hydrocodone into his whiskey to slow down his heartbeat. It wasn't strange for Greg to take hydrocodone. It was part of his prescription for his bad knee. So it was perfect.

"Oh, uh, can you tell her to wait?" Her mom asked, seeming flustered. "I'll do Greg's drink-"

"I can do it."

Her eyebrows brunched together "Are you-"

"Yeah," he shrugged, "I don't mind."

"Oh, okay." A sweet, sweet smile cracked over her face. His cheeks split to make room for a smile that mimicked his mother's. His mother disappeared up the stairs, calling out Violet, who opened her door to welcome her mother. "Make it cold," Greg slurred at him from the living room, "I like me' scotch cold."

His heart rate accelerated and he could already feel sweat gathering on his palms. There was energy rushing through him even at this point and nothing had happened yet.

"Okay," he replied breathlessly, pulling out the scotch from the cabinet. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, poured the whiskey in and pulled out ice cubes from the refrigerator, shake it into the glass and heard it land with a plop!

"I want some lemon in it!" Greg demanded.

Sebastian nodded, "Sure," he panted out, clicking his gums for emphasis. Glancing at the sight in front of him, the back of Greg's head watching the telly, and then flicking his gaze back at the stairs, empty, derelict, hidden in shadows. Violet still had mom occupied in her room, talking about first principles and derivatives. It was perfect. Sebastian's hands shook as he unscrewed the cap of the orange bottle of hydrocodone, the drugs Niko had supplied him and poured the powder into the whiskey. As quickly as the bottle materialized, it soon disappeared back into his pockets.

With a spoon, he combined the mixture, the white powders dissolving into the alcohol. He fetched a lemon in a container inside a fridge and squeezed it hard, making sure it masked the clinical taste of pills.

"Here's your drink," Sebastian said, as he marched up to Greg and thrust the glass into his meaty hands.

"Finally," Greg grumbled and took a sip. Sebastian's breath exhaled shallowly. Greg raised his eyebrows at Sebastian. "What are you still doing here? Get lost, twat."

Sebastian withheld the urge to throttle him and fled, heading back to his room. Once the door was closed, he let out a laugh, only slightly hysterical, into his hands at the thought that he had never felt more alive than just now. 

-

yikes, bash. that was almost psychopathic.