Tell Me Your Truths

Chapter 2: Elio

I wake up panting, sweat dripping down my back as I struggle to take in air.

Fuck, not again. 

Maddie shifts beside me, her hand snaking up my chest. I have to resist the urge to push her away just for a semblance of relief from a boxed space.

"Babe? Are you okay?" she mumbles against the pillow, her jet black hair spilling everywhere. If I didn't know better, I'd think an octopus was sprawled against my pillowcase.

My heart was thrumming against my ribcage and I silently count to ten like a five-year-old boasting annoyingly at their drunk mother on a family cookout. 

"Go back to sleep." I kiss the top of Maddie's head gently, silently willing her not to get up and start comforting me like a fuckin' baby that needed to be coddled. My girlfriend is a sweetheart when she wants to be, but sometimes her means of putting me to rest was more of an annoying whine than a sip of rum.

And these days, a twinge of pirate's rum as strong as an unsterile rusty sword is what I needed.

To my delight, she turns her back soon followed by the sound of her soft snoring.

I take my discarded shorts on the floor, put it on and grab my phone from the nightstand before making my way down the kitchen for a glass of whiskey or two. Thank God for the lovely days when my father had been a drunk. Now that he's found a purpose being the substitute father and husband to the former Angeles ladies, he left his alcoholic days behind, imparting his fuckload of Jack Daniels and Black Label for me to ravage.

Lucky me, I guess.

I uncapped a bottle from the cupboard pouring me a half glass.

I throw my head back, letting the sharp twinge of the alcohol burn the back of my throat. I savor every burning sensation of it, yet, it didn't take away the anxiety I felt.

So I took another shot. And another. And another.

The shots didn't dull s**t.

I slam the glass on the island hard enough for the bottom to crack but not shatter. 

Instinctively, my head turn to the open arcing kitchen door waiting for my older brother to scold me for being loud in the middle of the nigh. I'd pretend I hated how he was always snooping into my business and he'd proceeded to tell me his you are my business bullshit speech.

But I stare at the empty doorway remembering that won't ever happen again.

Jesus, he's not dead, so stop moping around.

Julian moved out almost a year ago before graduating high school. I mean, technically, the i***t hadn't been gracing us much with his holy presence in the house long before he officially announced his permanent departure.

Just like a pregnancy scare. You expected the tidal wave at a certain day and just when you start to panic and go all around gas station convenience stores for a pee-on stick, boom, the little s**t appears.

It's been a long time coming, if I'm being honest. Julian was always a hot head when Dad was around the house. No warnings, his dickhead meter automatically skyrockets at the sight of Dad's graying hair. I think we all know who contributed most to that ugly play of old age.

Asshole runs in the genes, I guess, because my father was no ray of sunshine either. At the age of ten, my mother died from a car crash. She was still breathing when she speed dialed my father, not the police which contradicts rule number one of every case of post-fatal accident what to do's handbook, but got the call dropped because he was busy being balls deep inside his mistress at a cheap motel.

Age twelve, my father was in a similar drunk driving accident, only this time, he was the drunk fucker who killed the other driver. What a real proud moment that was. Asshole even bought the silence of the man's family so not to tarnish his good reputable name. Should've known better that there was no truth that stays buried inside a locked chest forever. A key somehow always resurfaces. 

Or maybe a crowbar and sheer fuckin' determination.

Same age, my brothers and I found ourselves in separated foster cares where sunshine and rainbows were replaced with a flog and daily punching bag duties like a nun and her Hail Mary's.

And here we fuckin are now, age seventeen, a dead beat father who replaced his f****d up sons with a new and improved family that consisted a breathing wife and an adorable eleven-year-old girl who has a knack for dead bodies and detective work.

Not that it bothered me anymore. I was too old to be spoon fed and taken out for carnival rides.

I guess I have to thank Gina for marrying his miserable ass, that way, he wouldn't keep on riding up on mine. That way, I can throw the whole new family, who dis? card. Works every time, trust me.

Though, I love my stepsister like she was my real one so it was already water under the bridge the moment she asked me to watch Crime Watch Daily with her on Youtube the first day we met. 

What type of ten-year-old watches true investigations instead of The Backyardigans? 

Little psychopath was surely cooking up ways to murder someone, preferably an imaginary boyfriend, no doubt. Hell, she might even break my record for being the youngest sibling to step foot at a holding cell beating me by three years.

I put the Jack Daniels back on the cupboard, locking it before Addie would even think to use it to burn a body.

Stepping out the back porch, I let the chilly air consume me. At this point, nothing in the house could dull the aching pain in my chest. Drinking usually helped but like all medicinal pills and herbs, the body adapts overtime increasing the need of a higher dosage.

Yo, my big G up above,

That minor modification to the human body stinks like a dog's ass.

Sincerely, EP.

Fortunately for me, I know who to call to hook me up for said higher dosage.

I take out my phone and dial her number.

It rings for a few seconds before the line went dead. I roll my eyes. Thought she said her services were  twenty-four hours seven days a week?

I dial her number again and fortunately, it only rings three times before she picks up.

"What do you want, asswipe?" her smooth groggy voice belows from the other end. Yeah, she was definitely not a morning person.

"Well, good evening to you, too, Ayla. Sounding feminine as ever."

I hear her grunt. "Yeah, got that from your sparkly ass."

I clicked my tongue. "Now there's a little discrepancy in your statement. Gummy bears I could manage, but sparkles? That's where I draw the line." 

"Sure, Jojo Siwa. Is there a punchline to this little banter of yours? Why the hell are you calling me at two in the fuckin' morning?" 

Because some odd twisted part of me finds your voice soothing. 

"I need weed." 

The line went dead. 

I pull my phone away from my ear checking if my service went to s**t. Nah, three bars. 

I shake my head. She really fuckin' hung up on me.

Okay, two can play this game.

I call again but she drops it at the first ring. So I try again knowing my incessant pestering was going to annoy the hell out of her. I wouldn't be such an ass if I wasn't desperate to chase away the ache in my heart.

When she drops my call again, I try again. And again. And fuckin' again, as I bite my lip hard trying not to laugh at her attempt in trying avoid me.

Fortunately, she picks up right before I decided to call her home phone and disturbing her mother. She'll definitely talk to me then. "Seriously, Elio. I'm so close to blocking your number."

My grin widens. She wouldn't dare. She loves me too much. "Is that how you treat your customers? It's a mystery how you got five stars." 

"This isn't UberEats, dipshit. I'm not driving down there to sell you weed." 

"Then I'll go to your place instead. Is your mom awake?" 

I can hear a faint squeak of her bed in the background. "Would you let me snore to death if I said yes?"

No. "I'll be there in five," I say. 

"Can't wait," she says sarcastically.