*** NEW AND IMPROVED ***
With her father missing, Shay will do anything to get him back, even if that means teaming up with a cruel gang leader and his band of psychotic men.
CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN.
***WARNING*** OFFENSIVE CON...
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"I want to paint over the walls," Irvin said, pulling on his socks and sticking his feet into his heavy boots. He leaned over to tie the laces, slightly muffled voice an insistent buzz in the air. "And take down the paintings and the decorations. This house is a reminder of Gran. I loathe waking up and seeing her ghost in each room. I'm going to get rid of it all. Throw it out. Or maybe I'll rent out a storage container and shove everything inside. We can manage with a toaster, a fridge and two mattresses, right? Oh, and the TV. Can't leave that. There. Man, look how clean my shit is," he stood in front of the floor length mirror, admiring his footwear.
His phone pinged. "I've got an email," he was quiet while he read and then he exclaimed. "I got into the semi-finals for Crumpled Paper. It's a writing competition. Have I mentioned it to you before? The winner wins a five hundred pound voucher to a big brand book store. I don't want to buy books, I need a printer. Hey, you wanna read what I wrote? It's about sunsets and colours. It's pretty good. I wrote most of whilst high. Are you listening to me? Shay? Hey, dickhead!"
"What?" I shifted my gaze from my laptop screen to him, voice a low grumble. "I'm listening. Stop kicking me."
"What are you watching?"
"Thrones of Win,"
He frowned at the screen. "It's Game of Thrones, dumbass."
"Yeah, that,"
"What's wrong with you? Are you hungover?"
"No,"
"Your breath stinks of booze," he leaned away. "What time did you go to sleep? You look like shit. Your eyes are red, your mouth is crusty and that blanket probably needs a wash. Why don't you take a shower? Get out of this depressive state. It's been a day since your fight with Cole. I'll help you build a bridge and get over it. He's a bitch who needs to learn what consent is, he doesn't deserve you. Hey. Go for a run. You like running. And then go suck a dick, I can call up Bryson and – shit, no wait, he's dead. Fuck. What's wrong with me? That was so disrespectful. Goddamn. I feel awful now."
"I'm fine, I don't need to suck a dick, and I probably do need to shower. I'll put on my sports bra, take a run, and then clean up the house. You don't need to grow grey hairs over me. My happiness doesn't lie in a man's hands. Fuck Cole."
"So are you going to get up?"
"No," I pressed my knees to my chest, curling up into a ball, "I've got a list of movies and a beer case I plan on going through."
"Don't deep throat the bottles, take it easy. Alright. I'm going to leave you to it. I've got a friend I need to meet. And then I'm probably going to go to the post office. I've got bills to pay. I'm an adult now. It fucking sucks. I brought a jumbo size box of toilet paper the other day and a box of stamps. Why are stamps so expensive? My credit card is traumatised."
