𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑𝟒

trigger warning!mentions of alcohol and drug abuse aheadplease read this chapter with care

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR nothing a little peach liqueur can't fix

❊ ❊ ❊

I COLLAPSED ONTO the nearest wooden bench I could find, the tightening feeling in my chest increasing with each step I took. Walking away from Rafe left me with no exact direction to take, my guess being that I had since been on my feet for hours on end.

My brain wasn't able to focus on anything but him. I wasn't sure where I was going or where I was planning on staying during my 'break' from Tannyhill, but that didn't seem to matter as long as the thought of him was stained in my mind.

Everything he had said lingered like the bruises littered on my neck, his tattooed touch being an addition to his haunting words. The last thing I wanted to do was continue thinking of him. Yet, after spending almost every day with him over the course of the past month, I certainly was used to things not going my way around him.

He was always there with the cruelest intent, ready to rope me back to him no matter how much I should've objected.

That was the problem, after all. I should've not gotten myself into this mess in the first place, because it was my fault in the end. I should've just told him to leave me alone, or found another job opportunity. There was a countless list of things I should've done; should've, but didn't.

And, if given the chance to start this summer all over again, I still wouldn't.

There was something so intoxicating about him, a feeling I wouldn't trade even if it made me the richest person alive. Nothing could possibly compare to how he made me feel- both in sadness and in joy.

I had lived both the happiest of lives around him and the saddest, which was the price that came with secrecy.

Misery was never an emotion that I was particularly good at dealing with. Being a destructive person in day-to-day life, the person I turned into when upset was far from a pleasant sight. However, with familiarity to the miserable feeling I felt nearly every hour of my waking days came equally destructive coping mechanisms.

Hence why I was now at the foot of Dave's Liquors, a place that was arguably a second home of mine.

I picked myself up off the bench, dusting off my denim shorts as I headed towards the entry door. The bell made it's signature sound once I entered, the same scent of beer and dust hitting me in an instant. I caught a glimpse of Dave in my peripheral vision, noticing him sitting at the register with the same blank stare on his face.

In all the time I had spent on Figure 8, I had almost forgotten all the small details I loved about The Cut. The thing that hurt most was that I was no longer the person I was when I last walked these very streets, and that was something I wouldn't be able to get back.

Where I was once a house, I was now the singed exterior left behind as a result of Rafe's arson. Even if I was to be rebuilt, no two houses are ever the same. Just like the run-down bungalow May and I lived in was a roof over my head like Tannyhill was, the memories made inside were completely opposing.

Both were ones I did not want to remember.

By second nature, I found myself in the fruit liquor section of the store, picking up the peach-flavoured remedy for my sorrows. I gathered as many bottles as my arms could carry, using the help of my chin to keep them in place whilst walking towards the front counter.

The glass rattled as I scrambled to place the bottles onto the surface, the bald man's head shooting up at the disturbing noise. His tense expression loosened once he noticed my half-hearted smile; a sight I had never seen before.

"Margaret's girl." he exhaled quickly, "My God, we've all been worried sick for you."

My eyebrows furrowed at his words, unaware of the group of people he was referring to. I was never one to get involved with my mom's friends, especially not when they were coked up in our living room. Seeing concern expressed for her condition was a bittersweet feeling; on one hand I wasn't alone in my longing for her, but on the other I was sharing the feeling with a bunch of strangers who didn't know half of her personality as I did.

"Word travels fast on the island, huh." I nodded to myself.

"It isn't like May to miss a happy hour." he joked, "This must be so much on you."

"Nothing a little Peach Liqueur can't fix."

My statement made me sound more like my mother than I wanted to, her addictive tendencies being passed down in the blood we shared. For every time I resented her for drinking and causing me to be the adult of the household from such a young age, I made up for it by becoming the same alcoholic I hated in her.

"Can you throw a pack of Marlboro's in there for me, Dave?" I spoke softly, the small notes of our conversation weakening me more than I anticipated.

"Anything you want, kid. I know what day is coming up, must be hard for you to spend it alone." he reached for the cigarettes, tucking them into the same bag he'd packed the drinks into. "It's on the house."

"What are you talking about?" I let out a brief laugh, masking my confusion.

"It's three years tomorrow, right?"

How could I have fucking forgotten?

July 28th; the day my dad died of his self-inflicted Fentanyl overdose.

Which was also, by some twisted coincidence, my birthday.

"Margaret missed Charlie more than anyone." the man continued, "You two have been through so much."

I couldn't help but scoff at his words, knowing that whatever facade my mother had led her friends to believe was the furthest from the truth. She didn't miss my dad, I doubt she ever did. Her being under the next warm body she could dig her claws into wasn't an expression of her so-called grief, and the fact she had the nerve to say she missed him more than me made my stomach turn.

To her, he was nothing but an excuse for her awful parenting, and I fell for it every time.

"Thanks for the booze. I'll be sure to think of you when I finish these babies tonight, gonna have the time of my life." I grasped the paper bag in my arms, wanting to get out of the awkward environment of the store as soon as I could.

"Just stay safe, kid." his voice trailed on as I carried myself back onto the bench.

Three entire years, the thought lurked in my brain whilst I opened the first liqueur bottle.

Three years had passed since the worst day of my life. The very day I believed to have no competition in how bad it was, which now had two other days that managed to live up to its expectations.

I knew that, down the line, I'd find myself looking back on this day with unbearable regret. People are always destined to resent their teenage years, but there was some part of me that knew today was a day that would turn into a figment of all my worst qualities.

What I should've seen as a learning curve presented itself as just another opportunity to get drunk.

The grip I had on the bottle neck made my knuckles turn white, chasing down never ending gulps of alcohol. Sobriety was more of a curse than hangovers could ever be, and today was something I definitely needed to drown out.

I wiped the drops of liquid off my chin once I moved the glass away from my lips, taking a moment to breathe before getting back on my feet. There was not a single care in my body left for how I'd look to other people, knowing that the sight of a half-naked drunk was one fairly familiar on The Cut.

I forced the focus in my mind to shift onto the sting in my throat, burying my emotions for Rafe under floods of peach-flavoured alcohol. If anything was bound to make me forget him, it would always lead back to getting drunk.

Like everything did, since it was my preferred method of self-destruction.

My legs continued carrying me on the broken cobblestone pavement, occasionally tripping with each increasing sip of liquor I took. The vision in front of me became as clear as my mind was, each body blurring into a shapeless figure. No matter how many gazes burned onto me, the only burn I was focused on was the one in my throat.

It was a blessing in disguise that the island was so small, seeing as I found myself at Ricky's house in a matter of a few aimless strolls.

Ricky was my dealer- emphasis on the past tense. I first got involved with him at the same time I met JJ, the reason we met being that they were cousins. The reputation left behind as a result of my father's death made me blacklisted by almost every dealer in town, him included.

No one was ever particularly keen to sell to the daughter of an overdose victim.

I tripped up the path leading to his front entrance, falling back on the glass barrier between his door. My rather loud hit against the surface signified my presence more known than knocking ever would, the sight of an unimpressed shirtless man making itself apparent through his window.

"Ricky, long time no see buddy." I slurred, smiling at him through the glass.

"Camille, I'm not in the mood. Go home." he replied in an instant.

My lips let out an exasperated sigh, muffled by the bottle I was soon to press against them. The barricaded door made another series of clattering noises as I hit my palm on the surface, trying every bargaining attempt at getting as intoxicated as I could.

"Open the door, big guy." I shouted, "It's my birthday tomorrow, big 18!"

As a result of the obvious event that overshadowed my birthday, I hadn't fully celebrated the day since. Kie and the Pogues had tried to organise something the first year they found out, but they soon realised that was the last thing I wanted.

"I know what other day it is." he spoke through the open window, "I'm not selling you shit."

"Since when do you care about morals? Plugging weed to 14 year-olds isn't very mormon of you."

"You're drunk." his faint voice came from inside the house once more.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. Now open the door."

A trail of the drink I was holding made its way down my arm as I hit the glass again, the intoxication from the alcohol not being enough to push me through another waking moment of this day. I wasn't even sure exactly what drug I'd use to get me high, but with Ricky's stubbornness it was bound to be a miracle for him to even sell me anything.

"It's getting dark, just go home." he pleaded.

"Open the fucking door!" my fist made repeated contact with the surface. "Please, just open the door. I'm not fucking asking for much, a xanny's enough. Please."

"I don't even sell Xanax anymore, Camille. Go home, you're a mess."

"Fuck you, Ricky." my voice cracked, my throat hurting equally as much as my palm. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!"

I fell against the walls of the house, my body crashing down at the same time as the tears that were now streaking down my cheeks. The now-empty bottle rolled out from my grip, allowing both my hands to fix over my face.

The surrounding area grew silent, the only sounds being those that came from inside and my quiet sobs. I had imagined that I wouldn't be able to cry for days, any form of emotion in me being completely drained and burnt out. I was tired, and my internal exhaustion had finally caught up to me.

Ricky stepped out of the front door, my head turning to see him with car keys in his hands. Asking him for a drug related favour was far-fetched from the beginning, but I was willing to test out any opportunity I could find.

"JJ's gonna kill me if something happens to you." he sighed, staring down at the wrecked state I was in. "You live on Merrimac, right?"

"I'm not a charity case." I scoffed, throwing my head back against the wall.

He closed the door behind him and sat down beside me, much to my opposition. I bit down on my bottom lip as tears continued to spill from my eyes, searching for a cigarette amongst my fogged eyesight.

"You been in touch with him recently?" he continued in reference to his cousin. "I know how much he cares about you."

I remained mute whilst I perched the stick between my lips, reaching for the lighter I always kept in the back pocket of my shorts. The flame sparked before lighting the tobacco, the potent smoke being something I hadn't tasted in so long.

Ricky's mention of JJ clarified just how much I had missed my friends since last seeing them. I still didn't know what happened with John B at the Hawk's nest, and it only felt right to check up on them after all the missed time between us.

I found myself wondering if they cared enough to check up on me, but shunned the thought away almost instantly. They were the only friends I had, and I couldn't kill that with my overthinking bullshit.

Just like I had killed me and Rafe.

"D'you know where Big John's place is?" I asked, exhaling the smoke from my lungs.

I reminisced on the early days of this summer where I'd spend nearly every night at The Chateau, the imprinted scent of weed and cheap beer bringing me comfort I certainly needed at this moment in time. Going home would only lead me to spiral further, and being in Kie and the boys' company was something that could prevent my inevitable downfall.

"I do, why?" he replied.

"Think you can give me a lift?"