01 - Last Drink

"Well," she said, giggling, twirling a strand of hair on her finger as she talked to the tall man in front of her, "you could always come back to my place." I stood a few feet behind her, shaking my hand. Amanda was always being flirty; she did it for fun. Plus, she was a bit tipsy, as we were at the local bar. "I could always use someone around the house. Heaven knows Tom's hopeless."

I scowled at her. I was not hopeless. Like it was my fault she never let me do anything around the house to help out. She always insisted that she knew what she was doing, and would I please stop breathing down her neck? For a kid sister, she didn't like being cared for. I was two years older than her at the age of twenty-three. I rolled my eyes at the man gawking at her, at her shirt which had the top three buttons undone. When she got drunk, she always unbuttoned them because she was 'hot'. I was never going to understand women.

"Sure," the man said. "I'll take ya home and stay with ya."

I walked up to the guy. "Whoa," I said. "Hold up, buddy. You ain't takin' my sister anywhere." He growled and went to punch me in the face. I caught his wrist and foced it away from me. "Don't get testy," I said calmly, looking him in the eye. I focused my energy and muttered, "You need to go."

He went rigid for a moment, before he nodded his head, a glazed look in his eyes. "I need to go," he said in a dull tone, before he turned on his heel and began walking away. I smiled as I watched him go.

Amanda slapped me on the shoulder. "Ow!" I said, rubbing at it. "What was that for?"

"Why do you always have to scare the good-looking men away?" she asked, irritated. "Hmm?"

"Because you're meeting them in a bar," I said. "Because you're drunk."

Her gaze softened for a moment, but she quickly regained her posture. "Whatever," she said.

We lapsed into silence for a long moment. I wondered if maybe, just once, I should let her get with a man she met in a bar, and see what happens. She could learn from her mistakes without me helping her. I was about ready to leave her there when she glared at me.

"Take me home," she snapped. "You've ruined my fun."

I glared at her, before I sighed. Who was I kidding? She was my sister. Sure, she liked to treat me like crap, but I was always going to be there for her. We didn't have anyone else, me and her, so we had to be there for each other. "C'mon," I said, pushing my hand into my pocket. I gripped my keys and pushed out of the bar, Amanda following after me.

We made it to my car, an old Jaguar with a few dents in it from my many street races, and I opened the door for her. She didn't even glance at me as she got in. I knew she would be better later, when she was sober, and apologize for treating me like shit, but it still hurt. Didn't they always say you let your true feelings show when you were drunk?

I shook my head and got in the car, keying the ignition. The car revved to life, and the engine hummed away as I pulled away from the bar. I stopped at the end of the block for a stop sign, then kept going. Rounding a corner, I jerked the wheel to the side and we continued on our way.

She gave me the silent treatment most of the way there, then started in with, "I hate you."

I winced and kept my focus on the street.

"You always ruin my fun," she continued, glaring at me with distaste. I wanted to slap her, but I couldn't. I couldn't hit my sister, she was my own flesh and blood. She was just drunk and didn't know what she was doing.

Pfft. No matter how many times I told myself that, the rage within me wouldn't stop growing. I didn't say anything to her rants; none of it was new, she had said these things to me before. But it still hurt, it still cut me to the core, and it still made me want to hurt her. I stopped outside of our shared house, and got out of the car. She got out as well, and stumbled toward the front door.

We lived together because she hadn't been able to pay the bills when she had lost her job at the newspaper. I had been kind enough to move in with her to give her a little extra income and to help her pay the bills. Now I was rethinking my plan. Did I really want to live with a sister who treated me like this? Who got drunk seemingly every night and was never in a good mood? I was seriously thinking about moving out.

I keyed the lock on the door and pushed it open. I said nothing to her as I flipped the lights on and walked down the hall, and she said nothing to me as she shut the door and went into the living room, where she flopped onto the couch. I gave a small snarl and climbed the stairs that led to the bedrooms.

Walking down the hall, I opened my door and went in, kicking it shut behind me before I locked it. I let out a growl of frustration and then moved over to my bed. Kicking at the bedside table and making my lamp fall to the ground and break, I let out another snarl, full of rage and irritation. I plopped down on my bed and gaze of the ceiling, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down.

After a few minutes, I did. I sat up and looked around for a pencil and paper. I found my notebook and went over to my desk, where I turned on the desk light and grabbed a pencil. I started to write:

Dear Amanda

I'm sorry, but this isn't working out. I tried to help you, I really did, but I can't do this anymore. I love you, honest, and I'd do anything for you, sis, but this is just too much. You're drunk all the time, and when you're not drunk you're sick and irritated with a hangover.

You're not nice to me anymore. You don't love me. You hate me, as you've said every night this past month. I don't know why I've stayed this long, I really don't. You're the person I used to know. You've changed, sis, and not for the better.

Look me up when you've decided to come to your senses.

Goodbye
Thomas

I sighed and folded the paper, placing it on the desk. For a moment I sat there in the silence, thoughts racing through my head, a headache beginning behind my right ear. It wasn't that bad yet, but I figured I'd better take some aspirin here shortly before it got worse.

I got up and walked toward my closet, where I pulled out a duffel bag. I unzipped it and threw it on the bed, before I began gathering some of my clothes. I tossed them onto my bed, and then moved down and grabbed my laptop case. My laptop was next to it, and I unplugged it and secured it within the case. That, too, went on the bed.

Next came my book that I was writing. It wasn't very long yet, but well enough that I knew the possibilities of where I could next with it. I put that in a folder and wrapped a rubberband around it to keep it in place, before I tossed it onto the bed. I grabbed a few pencil's and my stowed away cash. Taking my wallet out, I placed my cash in it and then re-pocketed it.

I grabbed the chain necklace that Celia, my mother, had given to me before she had died, and hooked it around my neck. Next, I moved toward my bed and began piling the stuff up in the duffel. It was so full that it would hardly zip, but I forced it to.

I took a deep breath before I unlocked the door and opened it. I walked down the hallway and then down the stairs until I entered the hallway that led to the living room and kitchen. Going left would lead to the living room, and going straight would lead to the kitchen. I took the note and placed it on the kitchen table as I walked through to the backdoor.

I left the house quietly, silently bidding my sister farewell, before I walked around the house toward my car. I got in, keyed the ignition, and listened as the engine hummed to life. I drove away from the house, looking back at it in the rearview mirror.

I was finally on my own, as I had wanted it from the beginning. I had started out in a small apartment that I had been happy with, before my sister had come begging me to lend her some money so the bank didn't take the house. Now I chuckled at the memory.

I wondered if maybe the apartment was still vacant...