“cain, my man!” a friendly voice boomed over the echo of bass boosted house music. 

“sup, keith.” i said, accepting his outstretched hand and meeting it with my own. he handed me a beer before i’d even stepped inside, some kind of latin stout, but i didn’t give a fuck. beer was beer. 

“no ball and chain?” keith asked. his shaggy hair was tied up in a man bun with a psychedelic looking band securing the shorter bits. he looked like the kind of guy you’d associate with a talking dog, and though he did insert the word ‘man’ into almost everything, he had never once said ‘zoinks’ as long as i’d known him. tonight, keith actually looked sharper than usual. his button-down shirt was crisp, tucked into baggy jeans that came together nicely with a designer belt and matching loafers that probably cost more than everything in my room combined. 

“nah, kirst had a student council thing.”  

“right on man, we’ve got some real lookers here tonight.” he grinned, giving me a classic keith with teeth. thin brows waggled at me above soft brown eyes that absolutely sold the intentionality of pointing out girls to a taken man. 

“more for you then.” i chuckled, slapping him on the back. my mind wasn’t in the right place to think about girls, mine or otherwise. i took a heavy swig of beer instead. it did taste like shit, but it would get me drunk. i took another swig just in case. 

keith had a big house, even by suburb standards. he was the son of a lawyer and a cardiothoracic surgeon, and they lived in a gated community near the catholic school most of the kids in westchester attended. he had a reputation as a party boy and frequently threw them. ragers. my kind of fun, getting drunk and forgetting about bullshit for a night. a gated community meant cops only showed up for noise and the house was so grand it didn’t really matter. 

people were already pretty lit. there were discarded cans lining hallways and i could see a line of who knows what trailing out of one of the first floor bathrooms. a couple of girls walked by us and keith waved, pointing at me with his thumb extended in my direction, the other hand making an ‘ok’ gesture. i rolled my eyes and pushed down the urge to shove him. 

“hey cain, good to see you.” someone called over my shoulder. 

“evening maria, is jay at the student council thing too?” i shouted back, turning to greet my best friend. she had been kicking my shins and wrestling me for time on the swings since primary school. her raven hair was down and parted at the side, some tastefully tucked behind a hairband to show off her delicate makeup and high cheekbones. the low light of keith’s didn’t do her scarlet slip any favors, but it did contrast her tanned skin and nearly four feet of legs. 

it was…odd. a feminine break from her tomboyish norm. longer hair, painted nails, earrings. things i had never associated with her at all. affectations for jason? perhaps she was trying new things? either way, she looked undeniably gorgeous. he was a lucky guy. 

“of course. mr president must be in attendance.” we both laughed, exchanging smiles, and keith excused himself to continue fraternizing. “home life still fucked?” she asked. 

“oh yeah, big time. and lace is…well, you know…” 

“that age huh? is she crushing yet?” maria grinned, ribbing me. we walked to the corner of the living room not currently occupied by teens trying to see who could swallow the most liquid in 30 seconds and sat down. 

“i have no idea honestly. god. we were so close when she was little, i spoon fed her. it was way easier.” i mumbled into my beer. maria put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. 

“look, cain, i’m not gonna spoon-feed you.” she paused for effect. “this is gonna suck balls. big hairy donkey balls. girl mones are no joke man.” 

“yeah.” i said, a bit glum. it wasn’t like we hadn’t had this conversation before. in fact, the line about equine genitalia had been reused a few times at this point. 

“but, look dude, you’re basically her guardian. neither of those morons running your household give enough of a shit, so you gotta suck it up and deal.” she continued, waving her hand emphatically to drive my predicament home. 

“yeah but, fuck. i have a life, you know? i have my own ass to raise.” 

“all i can say is, meet her where she’s at.” maria stated, nodding her head sagely as if this was advice passed down through generations. i gave her a bewildered look in response. “you’ll figure it out, mr. biblical.” she rose with an exaggerated curtsy and gave me a joking sneer. 

“fuck you too!” i called after her as she headed off into the throng of people filtering in from upstairs. i took another heavy sip of my beer and made my way to the kitchen to get another. 

oddly enough, there was plenty of beer left. the thing about parties that people fuck up in movies and TV is that there is never a shortage of alcohol. reality is whoever is hosting has a guy, and that guy has a balking point. so, unless you’ve got a few guys, or a less than scrupulous cashier, your party is probably gonna be limited by how much booze you can shiftily acquire. 

keith’s marble countertops were an exception to this rule. cloistered with hard liquor bottles, a handful of wine boxes and several half full cases of beer, some stuffed into plastic tubs filled with ice. it always amazed me how he managed to purloin all this crap, but i didn’t really care in the moment, taking a shot of who knows what and throwing back another can. 

the night blurred. i danced to shitty blown out music with people i knew and people i didn’t. i let loose. ignored the fleeting memory of too sweet perfume, the anxiety from tests past and future. let my body carry me. upstairs and downstairs, backyard and front. i laughed until my throat was sore and i was one of the last people peeling themselves off the bathroom floor when all my imbibing finally carried out of me. 

the drive home was just as much of a blur, hollow lights and stretched low beams. empty suburban roads throwing up flashes of brightness as security systems activated floodlights. i was flying, gliding, feeling the hum of the engine as the gas pedal went down and down and down. 

what kicked me out of my drunken stupor was the siren that flared to life while i did 55 through a stop nobody ever stopped for at this time of night. instant regret. i pulled the car over and slumped in my seat. of course, of fucking course. of all the nights i just wanted to relax, i had to hit a speed trap at 4am. the officer knocked on the window and when i rolled it down he took one look at me and sighed. 

“cain. what’s the rush?” he asked, pointed. great. the cherry on top of the shit sundae that this was turning out to be. one of dad’s lackeys. he impugned me from underneath a wide brimmed hat, flashlight held in one hand obscuring the rest of the tan uniform that i knew all too well with its eye shattering beam. 

“sorry, sir. need to get home.” i slurred. it was difficult just to keep eye contact with him. something told me he wasn’t buying my excuse. 

“have you been drinking, son? step out of the car for me.” he barked. i complied. he shoved me onto the hood of the chevy and clicked cuffs around my wrists. the cold steel bit into my skin and tingled against the buzz that hadn’t yet faded. 

“is this really necessary, Mr. Stevenson?” 

“sure is, son. you’re not in pampers anymore.” he said, just as gruffly as before. “what is your old man gonna think, huh? if he loses another piece of his family like that?” the thought came down on me like a ton of bricks. it stung, like the cuffs, like the frozen metal of the car pressed against my face. i was much more awake now. 

awake enough to see the fury in martha’s eyes when the police car stopped in front of our house and officer stevenson hauled me out. dad was there too, in his nightwear. not angry, but scared. the color had completely drained away from his face and he didn’t speak when i was pushed onto the porch. 

“throw him in the tank. i don’t even want to look at him.” martha hissed. “what an embarrassment.” i wondered if a vein would burst on her asymmetrical forehead. it was threatening to, puffing out like just the slightest pressure would put me in the splash zone. 

“dear, maybe we should…” my father attempted. 

“no. i want him to learn his lesson. can you imagine what could have happened? what if kelsey or lewis were with him? he drives the kids to school!” 

“with an excellent track record otherwise, please, let me handle this.” dad pleaded. martha gave me another glower and huffed back into the house. officer stevenson sighed again, heavier this time, like he really didn’t want to be here doing this. it was embarrassing, martha had been right about that, but i only felt a begrudging remorse. what irked me more was how pathetic dad been in the face of her ire. 

“what do you want me to do with him, bob?” 

“i’ll handle it, sorry for the trouble. where’s the car?” dad responded, hands trying to go to pockets he didn’t have. 

“corner of mountain lane and tracey.” 

“thank you, i’ll…i’ll deal with him.” dad repeated. the cuffs came off and i took a step forward. officer stevenson grabbed my shoulder with a kind of authority my dad wished he had. 

“woah, young buck. i respect the hell out of your father for what he’s done in the sheriff’s department, but you have to earn that. next time, you’re getting booked, and your folks can bail you.” 

“i’m very sorry sir, it was a lapse in judgement and i’ll work hard on learning my lesson.” i strained through grit teeth. 

“god bless.” he took his hand off me and raised it in my dad’s direction. “bob.” 

“robert.” 

i gave my dad a sympathetic look and went inside. he closed the door behind himself and grabbed me with a quarter of the force officer stevenson had. 

“where do you think you’re going?” he asked, accusatory. that irked me. i was sick as shit, annoyed that my one night out in weeks had been fucked up, and that i was going to have to have some bullshit conversation about it. 

“upstairs, to brush my teeth and pass out.” 

“we need to talk.” he continued, holding fast. 

“we only talk when i get you away from martha, and then you ignore me.” i spat. i hadn’t meant to, the alcohol was pushing feelings up that i had worked very hard to tamp down. an ugliness was rearing its head alongside those feelings. something black and harsh that put acidity in the back of my throat. 

“that isn’t fair.” 

“no. you know what isn’t fair? cramming two assholes into our house and bringing in a woman we barely know, self-justifying every time we tell you how miserable it is.” i snapped, brushing his hand aside. 

“cain. if this is about-” 

“lacey is a whole different issue, dad.” i strained the last word, leaning on the emphasis and letting anger put an edge on my voice. something about hearing her name come out of his mouth felt like it might set me off. that tide of garish, inky foulness was barely restrained as it was. 

“this is totally unlike you, how long have you been drinking?” he asked. that look was back on his face. i was too angry to feel anything else, too tipsy to get a handle on my feelings before they tumbled out as i wheeled on him with clenched fists. 

“since i had to step up and raise the kids you forgot about.” dad looked like he might faint. i had never seen him this rattled, a far cry from the sheriff of westchester. he paced over to the couch in the adjoining living room and sat down, hands at his brow. 

“sit.” he directed. his voice shook, and though i wanted to protest, pity began to overtake my anger. it wasn’t worth continuing, it would only draw out my suffering and force up even more of what i was still trying to swallow. 

i readied myself for what was coming next, fists still tightly balled. he rubbed his temple and gestured again for me to have a seat. i dropped onto the ottoman across from him. it was something that i had done countless times, an extremely familiar position and sentiment, but it felt out of place now. having to look down, even if it was slight, seeing him practically melt into the furniture. 

“im tired, dad.” 

“you know martha and i love you both.” he murmured, face still buried in the carpet. i might have believed it if he had managed to say it to my face. 

“i know.” i lied. 

“then where is this coming from? am i not spending enough time at the house?” he asked. i didn’t respond, couldn’t bring myself to. just opening my mouth to say something truthful would’ve broken the shaky dam i had managed to erect in the last few minutes. 

“school stress. finals. track is killing me with the schedule.” i lied again. i let my shoulders slump, because i felt defeated in this moment, and because it would help sell it. 

“well, no more. i can’t have you…driving…like that.” his voice broke on the word driving. there it was. again, that pity overwhelmed me to the point where i couldn’t do anything but give him a slow, less than convincing nod. he might’ve challenged it if he had the guts to look me in the eye. 

“yes sir.” 

“go clean yourself up.” he said with a very heavy sigh, wiping his face with both hands and standing.  

i floated up the stairs into the hall bath. clutching the rim of the toilet as i heaved out the rest of my anger and vitriol until the only thing left was a hollow feeling in the bottom of my stomach and a banging in my head. only the thought of martha’s bursting blood vessel drove me to clean things up before i half walked, half fell up the rest of my steps into the shower. 

ice cold. freezing. the water heater wouldn’t push warmth up here for another 5 or 6 minutes. i didn’t care. the banging in my head became a dull pounding underneath the frigid stream. that all encompassing, intrusive perfume was still invading my nostrils, taking over my thoughts, eviscerating what little resolve i had left. i slapped my face and shut off the water, quickly brushing my teeth and toweling off. on autopilot, i walked straight out of the bathroom and into my makeshift closet, a butchered ikea drawer set with a curtain rod on top for hanging, and practically bumped into lacey.  

“christ, lace, you scared the shit out of me.” i slurred a bit, quickly moving the towel in front of my body. her outline blurred and shifted in my vision, a bunch of flaxen fluff floating atop a short figure. she looked scared, like dad had, but not in the same selfish way. 

“i heard you puking…i’m sorry, are you okay?” she replied sheepishly, spinning around and tapping her foot. my heart melted, the anger venting out like her words had been the emergency release. 

“i drank too much, i’m fine.” i said without thinking. she spun back around, yelped, and again turned on a heel to look the other way. 

“you drank?” she half whispered, half gasped. i blew out a heavy breath and tapped my pounding head with the back of a fist. idiot. 

“fuck. yeah, i guess. rob stevenson busted my ass coming home from keith’s.” 

“and you DROVE?” idiot. 

“yeah-” 

“dad is gonna take your keys!” 

“lacey, keep it down, please, its 4 in the morning and my head is…” i trailed off. “what are you doing in here at 4am?” i muttered, pulling on briefs and a loose pair of joggers. lacey didn’t respond. “hello, earth to lace. communicating, communicating.” 

“you weren’t around when i came to use to the futon so i just…did.” she said, turning back much slower this time. having confirmed that i was clothed, she decided to hold that course, but her eyes were anywhere else. i looked at the futon. it was exactly how i had left it before school, not even unfolded. 

“were you in my bed?” i asked incredulously. she made a small sound and covered her face. “i mean, i don’t care but isn’t that gross?” the alcohol was really making me say some choice words tonight. i racked my brain trying to think of the last time i’d washed my sheets; the week prior, when kirsten was over. 

“well, it’s more comfortable than a fucking futon!” she replied, stamping a bit before quickly covering her mouth. i wanted to give her a look, to chastise, but on account of my own behavior tonight i bit my tongue. 

“you can swear, you’re not in pampers anymore.” i sighed, walking over to my bed to toss my phone on it. she didn’t give me a reply, somewhat dumbfounded, as if i had said something completely out of character. my head felt like a metal drum several small children were assaulting with a baseball bat. it beckoned me to lay down, to stretch out and rub my eyes. god i needed sleep, even if it was only a few hours. 

“cain.” lacey said, close enough that i jolted. she had closed the distance and was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away.  

“yes?” i mumbled.  

“can i come in.” 

“what, in bed? the hell?” 

“don’t make me say it twice, its fucking cold.” she stopped, hanging her head a little. “like when we were kids.” 

“you’re still a kid, dumbass.” i muttered, rolling over and patting the empty space. “if you kick me in your sleep i’m gonna shove you on the floor.” i added. 

“whatever.” she responded. the fuzzy back of her pajama top pressed against my skin as she settled into bed. prickly, but weirdly satisfying, like the threads were caressing wherever they made contact. i was surrounded by that sickly sweet lilac. soft strands of hair prickled the back of my neck.  

it should have been intrusive, should have bothered me like it had in the shower, but i kept seeing her worried expression over and over again. i kept breathing it in. kept wishing that she would stir or reposition so that i would get another glancing brush with fabric or follicle. 

maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe some part of me wanted this. i rolled back over and tossed my arm around lacey, pulling her up underneath my chin. lilac by the bucketful. cloth and curl both in excess that dulled every frayed nerve and scared away the delinquents bashing my brains in. it was almost a little ethereal. 

“cain…” she whispered. 

“shut it and go to bed.” i said, with just a twinge of guilt.