Coney Island Queen

07 | strawberry sorbet

07: IT'S NOT ART, IT'S A FUCKING BRICK WALL

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THE BUZZING OF my phone sent me sitting up in alarm, knocking into something soft. The soft something, which turned out to be Amanda, groaned and shuffled slightly. I glanced at my phone, the bright screen illuminating the room, causing me to squint. I grimace when I see the time, sighing heavily.

4.16 AM, AlecTheBae (Alec Davidson): Gia.

4.16 AM, AlecTheBae: Goa plrase, wske uop.

4:18 AM, Giovanna Marino: fuck off

4:18 AM, AlecTheBae: I ned your hep.

4:19 AM, Gia: igt four fuckign am stop

Read, 4:19 AM.

At that point, my phone begins to buzz, and I inwardly groan, glancing over at Amanda to check if she's still sleeping. Always the heavy sleeper, she hasn't stirred once.

"What could you possibly want?" I whisper-yell into the phone. My stomach is twisting in ways that it shouldn't, because one: he called me, and two: something must be horribly, awfully wrong.

"I need your help," The 'need' comes out more drawn out than it should be.

"With what? If you haven't fucking realized, it's four AM," I snap, my tiredness getting the best of me. There are actually people in this world who go to sleep, and then there's Alec.

"I just. . . Please come." His voice comes out hoarse and cracked, and my annoyed exterior softens slightly.

I sigh, picking at the fabric of the shorts I didn't bother to change out of. "Where are you?"

"Uh. . ." I hear shuffling as he - I'm guessing - tries to find his location. "Freeman Avenue."

"I'll be there in ten." As subtly and quietly as I can, I attempt to climb over Amanda, and inwardly groan as my foot slips and I crash to her carpeted floor. I huff in annoyance, blowing blonde strands of hair out of my face.

"M-mom?" Amanda questions, her voice feeble and weak.

"It's. . . it's your dad. This is a dream," I attempt, holding my breath.

Her head thuds back onto the couch, and soon her light snores are audible. I sigh in relief, fishing through my bag and finding Amanda's keys.

I'm torn, because right now I should be here with Amanda. She experiences an empty house most days of her life, unless she's at mine. Her mother means well, working hard at politics to give Amanda the posh lifestyle she's had since she was little.

I close the door softly, stepping out into the humid mid-July air. Of course, since it's dark, it's thankfully not as hot as it would be during the day. Climbing into Amanda's car, I rub the sleep out of my eyes, my vision focusing as I back out of her driveway.

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"Alec?"

Once I reach Freeman Avenue, I climb out of the car, squinting in the dark. I start down the street, searching for his built frame. A figure slumped on the corner catches my attention, and I race towards it.

The strong smell of alcohol burns my nose, and I have the overwhelming urge to pinch it closed. I whip around, realizing that I'm in front of Freeman's, the bar that houses every drunk you could imagine.

"Alec," I say, nudging him.

His head snaps up, and his bloodshot eyes meet mine. A smashed bottle of Jack Daniel's lays in shards next to him, the caramel coloured liquid oozing into the gutter.