Here Comes the Sun | ✓

Chapter Thirteen - Liam

Chapter Thirteen.

"Where the hell have you been?"

This is what greets me when I step inside my apartment. I haven't even closed the door yet, and already I've been bombarded with questions that I'm not even sure if I should answer truthfully. I've been walking in a daze, deciding to walk home instead of catching a cab, my mind replaying all that had happened down at Times Square.

Libby's kiss, her blush, and the agreement to meet each other tomorrow.

The whole thing's surreal - none of it seems as if it really happened. It's not my life - it's not something that can just happen to someone like me. The majority of my life has been the life of an adult, taking care of Jeremiah and keeping up house payments and electricity, but tonight it was as if I had the chance to live a small portion of the life of a normal teenager.

But once I twisted the knob and pushed my front door open, reality set in.

Jimmy was sitting at the table off to the right of the apartment, straddling a chair with his head in his arms. I look around the rest of the place, but neither Debby nor Jeremiah is in sight.

"Where's Jere?" I ask, ignoring his question completely and shutting the door behind me.

    "Upstairs, sleeping," he mutters, clearly pissed. Taking a sip from his beer can, I feel him watch me as I relax at the sound of his news and go to the kitchen to clean up. I don't blink when I hear the sound of the legs of his chair squeak against the kitchen floor, his footsteps sounding closer to me by the millisecond. I brace myself for one of Jimmy's scoldings. I know I deserve it today.

    But he doesn't say anything.

    His footsteps sound past me and out of the kitchen. I don't glance up from the sink, but I listen closely to where his footsteps are headed: In Mom and Dad's bedroom. Or, rather, his bedroom. At least now it is. He rented it out two years ago, with me needing help out on the rent and him needing a place to live after being kicked out of his sorority.

    I shake my head as I stare down at the sink, mindlessly washing a plate Jere must've eaten his lunch off of. Today's been one helluva day.

There's something annoying about repetitivity.

    The same routine every morning and the same result at the end of the day.

    That's why when I wake up this morning, I'm somewhat relieved that it's not going to be like any other day. I drag myself out of bed and look blearily around my room, trying to figure out what it is I'm supposed to do on a day like this. Bentley made it clear yesterday that I was fired. I haven't necessarily shared the news with Jimmy yet, but it's only because I'm going to come up with a plan first.

    I walk out of my room with heavy feet, wiping the sleep out of my eyes while I go down the stairs. The low murmuring of the television catches my attention, and I turn my head to the living room only to find Jimmy sprawled out on the couch, three empty Saint Arnold glasses toppled over on the carpet. He's asleep, his socked feet dangling off the opposite arm of the couch his head is resting on, his mouth left ajar and his arm dangling off the side. He's snoring, meaning he's drunk.

    He must've come downstairs late at night last night after our argument, or had gone off to a party and returned early this morning.

    I shake my head and click the television off, giving Jimmy one last pitiful glance and then crossing the apartment to the kitchen. The kitchen's my favorite part of the whole place - it's the happiest memory I have of my childhood. We always dip-dyed our Easter eggs at the kitchen table, strung popcorn on fishing wires on the tiled floor, or did a family dinner where each of us prepared something we could all eat for dinner that night - Jeremiah being the exception.