James Mandarin

Thinking

Hollie can't stop talking about GTA-5 and the new version of Nintendo she bought the other day. I can't help but zone out.

I think of the art assignment due tomorrow. I think of the heap of dirty clothes sprawled all over my bedroom floor.

The house now smells of liquor and cigarettes. Dad has instantly bounced back to his old habits. After all, they die-hard. Last night, he sat in front of the television with his liquor bottles, watching the footy. West Cost Eagles lost once again.

He sulked for the rest of the night before swinging a bat at the television and turning the lounge room into a war zone.

Mum once again overreacted, and began crying.

Dad was too out of it to give a damn. "Shut up," was all he said before leaving.

Hollie touches my arm. "You ok?"

I nod.

She continues chatting.

After Chloe left the field, I took the canvas home and placed it in the wardrobe with shaking hands. I contemplated burning it, but couldn't. I thought of calling her, but I'm a pansy.

I thought of spending time with Razor, but it was too risky.

I didn't want to get caught.

I didn't want to get cut.

* * *

No one is home. I should have expected it.

I sit on what is left of the sofa. Liquor bottles are still on the floor.

I should be a good son. I should clear the mess.

No.

I stare at the golden brown, empty, liquor bottles on the torn carpet. Torn, just like my parents' marriage. Torn, just like the flesh on my arms and thighs. I watch as they shine in the dim light. One catches my eye. I stand up and pick it up. It's heavy.

It's full.

I sit back down on the sofa and unscrew the lid from the bottle. I close my eyes for a moment.

"Liquor makes everything better," Uncle Barney used to say.

I place the bottle to my lips and throw my head back as warm drops of acid slide down my throat and into my blood stream.