Isn't it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back, everything is different... 
— C. S. Lewis 

Alamort 
(adj.) half dead of exhaustion 

Monday — September 4, 2023 

I. Can't. Believe it. 

"Yo, dude, you're like gonna give yourself an aneurysm." Marcus says from beside me as he knocks his shoulder against mine. "Take a chill pill." 

Chill pill. 

Chill. Fucking. Pill. 

"I am not going to take a chill pill until that bitch is fucking dead, Marcus, do you fucking understand?" 

I run a hand through my hair with the deadliest of glares resting on my face. The party starts up once again but there's a significant surge in the level of excitement in the crowd. For fuck's sake. 

"Now that was a scene to behold," Sasha grins from behind me as she downs the contents of the red cup in her hand. 

I don't bother turning around. My aura is sour enough to be physically deterring so if she decided to approach me still then I won't hold myself accountable when blood spills. 

"Hard to behold a scene when you're the one starring in it," I mutter and incinerate my gaze into a tree trunk, willing it to turn to lava and flood — and burn — the entire crowd. 

"Don't worry, I made a vid just for you." A phone screen invades my glaring match with the red maple. "You're welcome." 

My gaze shutters as she clicks play and I know I should simply knock the phone into the mud and then crush her throat, following it up by ripping out Marcus' spine, but I shut up and watch the clip. 

Murderous tendencies are frowned upon. It's saddening. 

Marcus' laughter filters through the speaker as he says "She's mine next," and I turn a side-eye at him. His gaze is locked on the screen, though, and if the smirk on his face is any telling, he's devouring the scene all over again. 

I return my gaze to the screen and sneer as I watch her headbutt me straight in my face and I shove it out of view. 

"Motherfucker," Marcus whines as the video switches off. "I wanted to watch!" 

"Then do it somewhere the fuck else." I bring my hand up to my nose and flick away the flakes of dry blood. "I still can't believe that bitch had the fucking audacity to break. My. Nose." 

I should sue her for assault. Battery. 

Marcus inspects my face and by some miracle, I don't shove him off. He grabs my face and narrows his eyes at me, prodding my nose with his index. 

"That shit hurts," I mutter and swat his hands away. He stares at me for a second more before slapping me across the cheek. 

"Shut the fuck up, you overpampered bitch. You're fucking fine." 

My lips part in surprise and I jab him in the throat right where Callista got him, a choked shout escaping him as he bends over and cradles his neck. 

"I'm not an overpampered bitch." I say defensively and push off the car, away from people in general. Yeah, today's been a real shitshow. 

"So, who's the new señorita?" The taunting lilt of Sasha's voice reaches me. 

"No one of importance," I say, the acrid taste coating the lie leaving a bitter tang in my mouth. She was important alright. Important enough for my mind to wind all thoughts around her. 

I've never met someone as two-faced and hateful as her. 

"Mhm," Sasha hums, eyeing me like I'm full of shit. "So no scandalous backstory? Y'all just met?" 

"Yes," I say shortly. This conversation needs to end. Like ten minutes ago. 

"Funny how she said the same thing; that she's got 'zero clue who this Chance is'." She flashes a wicked smile at me and I know whatever's coming out of her mouth is not going to be good. "Then three seconds later pointed at you and mentioned you being Sabrina's boy toy." 

I turn a steely gaze at her sharply and narrow my eyes at her. 

"She said what?" 

Sasha's face lights up like she just hit the jackpot. 

"I'm not the one who said that." She says, closing the distance between us and slipping the top of her fingers into my waistband. 

"Tell her that she better quit BCA if she values her life because I'll rip her to pieces with my bare hands." I snarl, taking my rage out on her as I lock my hands around her wrists, grip tightening as I imagine all the fucked up things I'll do to Callista once she's pinned beneath me. 

The Devil's going to hand me Hell and throw himself into oblivion once he sees what I have in store. 

"I'm not your mediator." She says against my lips as she reaches up to claim them but I rear my head back so that her lips land on my throat. 

"You are now." I state simply and I move to peel her off but she shifts her hands so that they sink into my pockets and takes the pack of cigarettes I'd stashed there along with my lighter. 

I push her off me and stare at her with indignation as she sets one alight. 

"I'll need more convincing than that." 

"Yeah, well tough luck." I mutter and make for my car, every physical fiber of me done with the day. I need a long ass shower and then food. And sleep. Or, better yet, fucking booze. Yeah, that's what I need. Sabrina can find her own damn ride. 

"Wait, wait," Sasha calls out to me as she pushes into my path. "You and the brunette. You still haven't spilled." 

I curl my lips in ire. "Fuck that bitch and fuck you too." 

She doesn't seem the least bit fazed and continues to trail beside me even as I snatch whatever drink Sawyer was about to down from his hands and let it work its way down my throat and I glare at the sky and clouds and whatever else my eyes snag. 

"Pig shit!" Sawyer shouts at me but I don't respond, my gaze running across the crowd hooking on a junior who's lazing against the beer-pong table. I vaguely remember making out with her beneath the bleachers last year. 

Lord knows what a junior is doing here but who am I to care. 

Red lines her cheeks as she looks back at me and I just jerk my chin toward the crate of alcohol bottles at the other end of the compound. Her eyes widen and she springs into action instantly, and my anger lessens as I fall back into my element. 

She returns with a green demi and hands it to me. I take it, running my other hand over her cheek. 

"Keep them coming." I wink at her, and she nods before scurrying away to fetch me more. 

"You're such a manwhore." Sasha comments and the general air of annoyance wraps around me once again. 

"You're still here why?" 

"Uh, why the fuck else do you think?" She looks at me like I'm incapable of grasping the basic workings of the female mind. Which I suppose I am, what with Callista serving as a prime example. 

"Easy lay?" I guess with a bite to my tone, tipping the bottle back against my mouth. 

"That, too," She says, "But I wanna know more about you and New Girl." 

She tilts her head sideways as she waits for a reply, black hair fluttering in the breeze. My gaze drops to the swell of her breasts, but my cock doesn't react. I return my eyes to hers. 

"What's it to you?" I ask, knowing that she wasn't going to drop it and wouldn't believe me if I denied it. 

"Tea." She shrugs simply like that's explanation enough. 

"Yeah, you can find someone else to fuck." 

She purses her lips but relents, grazing her fingernails across my bare chest that's on display from when Sawyer got a little animalistic earlier in the night and leaves me alone. 

The corner of my lips lifts at the memory and I silently hunt the crowd for Sawyer. I owed him an apology anyway for the drink. One that involved a whole lot of skin on skin. 

Just as I'm about to hunt down my prey, Ryder Ashdown sidles up beside me with a not-so-subtle smirk dancing on his lips and I just know what — who — the subject is before he even opens his damn mouth. 

This is going to be a long night. 

●⁍●⁍●⁍●  

"You look like someone spiked your girl's drink and then pissed in your ass." 

"I don't have a damn girl and what the fuck." 

"I'm just saying you look like it." 

"Sure, whatever." 

"Stop being a bitch— Chance! I did not say you could leave." 

"Mom." I groan as she puts down her flute of champagne and grabs my arm, spinning me around to face her. 

"Mom." She mimics and lightly slaps my face, prodding my cheeks as I roll my eyes. "Smile, you cranky idiot." 

I slap on the fakest smile known to humankind and hold it for a moment before letting my face drop. "Happy?" 

"No, now you look like someone spiked your girl's drink and pissed in your ass and  then put you on your ass when you tried to punch him." 

Holy shit, can I kill myself right now? 

I run a hand across my face and school my glare into neutrality. "Better?" 

"A little." She says and pulls me to the couch along with her, and then mutters, "You smell like liquor and ten different perfumes." 

I need: 

a) shower 
b) food 
c) sleep 

And I'm getting none of it and it's pissing me off. 

"Like you're not hiding away on the couch with your own supply of booze." 

"I left work early." She says as she waves me off, picking up the abandoned flute and emptying its contents in one gulp. 

I blink. The flute was like more than half-full, and the lipstick stains around the edge of it tell me it isn't the first pour. 

"How long have you been at this?" I ask, moving forward to seal the cork, my fingers fumbling with it as I try to make them work. 

She sighs and wraps her arms around my shoulders, dismissing my question. 

"My baby boy." She mumbles and I don't really have the energy to keep my eyelids open. She drops her head on my shoulder and I let mine fall on it. 

I bristle at the sudden and unexpected action — it wasn't like I just got off my deathbed or something. But I indulge her anyway, seeing as the evening's been a bitch to us both. 

"Why's today so depressing?" I say, slipping a metal ring off my index and twirling it in my hold. 

"Ask your father. He seems to know everything these days." Sarcasm laces her words like venom. 

Another groan leaves my lips. I mentally cannot deal with their politics. 

"You know, I had like five sets of lips on the skin you're touching right now," I say in an attempt to get her off me. 

"That's just sad." She says in a low voice and doesn't move a muscle. 

I accept my fate and sink into the velvet, letting it absorb the tension in my muscles. Now's probably a good time to tell her that Callista's back in town. 

"Catalin— oh." I raise my head as I see Dad standing at the threshold, his blazer slung over his arm and shirt sleeves rolled up. I could have sworn there was an underlying tone of fury in his tone when he said her name — that dissipated soon enough, — but then again, I might just be projecting my own emotions on him. 

"You're back early," Dad says, although the way his eyes switch between Mom and me, I can see it's meant for both of us. 

"Party was shit," I reply for my part and rest my head on the channel back sofa. I should really, really mention Callista. 

"You look like shit." He counters. 

For fuck's sake, did I seriously look that pissy? "You're supposed to be on my side." I groan. 

He raises his eyebrows. "I wasn't aware I was picking sides." 

I drop my hand from the sofa back onto Mom's hair, tugging a single strand to see if she'll let me go. She doesn't. Damned champagne. 

"You should get yourself cleaned up before dinner," Dad says, sinking into the space on the other side of Mom. 

I glance at the clock. It's like half past eight. "You haven't had dinner yet?" 

"Have you?" 

Touché. 

"Alright," I say, moving to stand up and leave but Mom's grip on me doesn't falter. 

"What if I told you I just took part in an orgy fuckfest?" I whisper to her. 

"That's just disgusting." She says, peeling her head back to look at me, eyes rimmed red. Fucking hell, how much did she drink? 

"Catalina, let him go," Dad says and I'm suddenly acutely aware of the tension between them. Yeah, now would not be a good time to mention Callista. 

"Is everything alright?" I ask. 

Mom lets go of me, pausing for a second to stroke my arm before retracting her hand. "You better scrub every fleck of whatever you did back there from your skin. I don't want STDs in my house." 

I snort and head upstairs, stopping midway as I hear them start talking. 

Dad's voice is far too low for me to be able to pick out the words, but I catch him saying "desk drawer" and a whole lot of curses.

There's a beat of silence and my stomach shifts uncomfortably. 

Mom's voice is harsh enough for me to wonder if I'm better off upstairs and not eavesdropping. I curl my palm around my ring as Dad's voice raises, though I still can't properly hear what he's saying. 

I should have seen it coming — the way they were acting was reason enough. 

I can tell by the low hiss in their tones that more sharp words are thrown. They'd never fought. Not outright. I can't remember how or when it started. I don't think I even noticed much. They were always so happy together. 

I remember, when I was younger, priding myself on having the best of parents. They were sickeningly in love to the point that I was scarred forever from accidentally walking in on— yeah. 

I flinch as glass shatters. Then there's silence. 

Piercing silence.