Before

Chapter 16.

                 

Songs for this chapter are:

Unsteady- X Ambassadors

Without- Years and Years

Love In The Dark- Adele

Human- Gabrielle Aplin

Hardin's POV.

When I get to my father's house, I park right in the middle of the driveway. I hate this fucking beautiful house. It sits high on the perfectly green lawn; they pay a pretty penny to have their yard groomed along with Ken's new family. His new soon to be wife loves living here I'm sure. She probably spends his money on grooming too.

I'm fucking livid. I'm pissed off and not drunk enough to deal with this kind of bullshit. What fucking piece of shit father tells his only son he's getting married to another woman when you're just now getting to know his ass? This is exactly why I didn't want anything to fucking do with him. I'm pissed that I only had a quarter of a bottle of liquor in my cabinet. My head is pounding, my throat is dry and I'm craving the burn of scotch. Ken Scott has fine bottles of scotch gifted to him from colleagues in sweater vests to vacation in Scotland. My shitty father is getting remarried and he says it like this, "Karen and I are to be wed. Soon, very soon."

To be wed? What the fuck kind of explanation is that? And over a fucking telephone conversation?

"We are to be wed," I repeat as I take his porch stairs in two long strides. The man has so much fucking topiary it makes me feel like I'm lost in the fucking Wonka Jungle, or Wonka Factory thing. Hell, whatever it is, it's hideous.

First and foremost, I need more scotch. I knock on the door and no one answers. His house is too damn big. Stupid brick showy model home. "Hello?" I shout to the abyss of a dark yard with loud crickets shouting at me. The neighbors all have their porch lights on and every house has an SUV parked in front, the bumpers littered with WSU bumper stickers. All of the overpaid, highbrow scholars live on this street. I pull my gray beanie down over my hair, hoping it makes me look even more dangerous to the neighbors.

Landon opens the door before I even realize that I'm pounding my fist against the wood. My knuckles are barely healed; the skin never really has a chance to heal before I rip it open time after time.

"Hardin?" his voice is low like I have woken him up.

"No," I say, passing him in the foyer. I walk straight to kitchen and raise my voice so he can hear me as he follows, "It's someone else who looks identical to him, only this model thinks you're an even bigger prick." I open the cabinet in the kitchen to begin my search. My sperm donor, since being sober has thrown out most of his liquor, but I know he kept that rare bottle of scotch. He cherished it, fucking treasured it even. I've heard him talk more about that stupid bottle than his own son in the two years I've been here. It's always in a different spot, I don't know if he hides it from himself or if it's a constant reminder of his sobriety. Either way, it's mine now.

"They aren't here. My mom and Ken went out of town for the weekend," Landon explains what I already know.

I stay quiet, not wanting to converse with my soon-to-be brother. The thought makes me gag. I'm not meant to have family, no siblings looking out for me or vise-versa. I'm meant to be alone and take care of myself.

I keep searching, now into their bedroom. The room is enormous, big enough for three king siZed beds like the four-poster they have in the center of the room. Their dresser, nightstands, and bed are all a dark cherry wood, the same as his desk in his office.

Anal obsessive asshat.

It's hideous and it looks like shit so I hope they are happy in here with their matching furniture and happy life. I pull the string in the closet to turn on the light and brush my hand across the shelves in their closet. After feeling around some dust and a box, my fingers hit cold glass. Jackpot.

I carefully bring the bottle down and wipe the thin layer of dust that has gathered since his last showing of his precious bottle. Immediately, I twist the top off, feeling deep satisfaction as the plastic tears, ruining the perfect seal.

The scotch is hot on my tongue and it burns a small cut on the inside of my cheek. I savor the taste, the thick, slow burn of the smooth liquor. Ken Scott has always loved his scotch and he knows how to pick them. The taste is incredible, so smooth yet such a rich flavor. I personally think scotch is ridiculous and was disappointed to find out that scotch is only whiskey from Scotland. Showy bastards. I love the taste too, one trait I got from Ken's short list of actual attributes to my upbringing.

Half of the bottle is gone now, my head is spinning and I think I should finish this bottle. Why not? He doesn't deserve it, he doesn't even drink anymore. When he chose to stop holding hands with the devil, he lost the right to covet such an exquisite bottle.

He has enough precious perfect things. Like his new son for example, who right now seems to think he can stop me from my mission to make his new Daddy feel as shitty as I feel. He has a perfect wife who keeps his pantry and stomach full. She doesn't have to work an eight-hour shift then turn around and go to another job. She doesn't have to line out the bills on their kitchen table that's missing a leg, and choose one to go without. The times I talk to him he seems to think we were fine and I blame a fraction of that on my mum who's pride was bigger than her brain.

His house is clean and even his fridge is clean, no fingerprints are visible on the stainless steal. I lick my fingers and drag them down the metal. Landon scoffs, cursing from behind me.

"Did you drink that entire bottle?" He asks. His eyes are wide as he stares at the bottle swinging in my hand.

"No, there's still half left. Want some?" I ask him.

He backs away, hands raised. "No."

Perfect son who doesn't drink. How sweet.

"I thought you weren't drinking anymore?" He says. I turn to him, holding onto a big cabinet filled with expensive, shiny china sets of dishes to stay level. What the fuck does he know about my drinking?

"Why would you say that?" My fingers dig into the wood.

He realizes that he wasn't supposed to say anything in front of the poor damaged child and his eyes widen. "I just meant," he attempts to bullshit me.

"Stop," I hold up the hand with the bottle and he steps backward into the living room from the dining room.

"Your dad said-"

Before he can finish his sentence, I push the cabinet over. I use extra force, dropping the bottle in the process. Landon yells something but I can't hear him over the sound of shattering china.

"Get out! You need to leave!" Landon shouts. I bend down and grab the bottle from the mess of broken glass, splintered wood, and slices and fragments of white and blue dishes. I cut the tip of my finger and lick away the blood while making sure the scotch is properly closed.

"Tessa would be so impressed by this!" I hear his voice as I pull open the back door.

Tessa? I want to ask him what the fuck Tessa has to do with any of this but I don't want to give him the satisfaction of using her as leverage over me. For whatever reason, he thinks tossing her name out there will make me come down and give a fuck, and I won't let him think he's right. I ignore him even though I don't want to and walk out onto the back deck.

The air is warm but calm, the tip of fall is here and the summer nights will soon start to turn chilly and chilly will turn into freezing. The next time I fuck up, I'm moving somewhere warm.

"Tessa would be so impressed," I say aloud, mocking Landon's voice. He was trying to be a smartass, saying that she wouldn't approve of my mess making and temper-tantrum.

"Tessa, Tessa, Tessa," I shout into the darkness. Even this yard is perfect. It's nearly as big as an American football field and lined with tall trees, keeping the perfect shade during the day and a black sheet of darkness at night.

I sit down on the wooden planks for a few minutes, enjoying the silence. My head is spinning and the silence isn't helping. I take another swig.