78

AIDEN

TUESDAY

I passed out. Any indication was the cold texture of my couch and my head pressed against it.

Facing the ceiling, I batted my lashes, took deep breaths then sprung off the couch. I overestimate my metabolism. That was too quick. My head thumped, and I groaned and bumped against the back of the chair.

“Fuck me.”

My vision turned blurry and I hit the couch and closed my eyes, exhaling and clamping my hand down on the sides.

“Let’s try that again.”

Grunting, I picked myself off and then balanced on the ground before relinquishing the couch.

“Good work.”

I say to no one in particular. No one at all since my apartment is void of any living being.

The urge to lay back down on the couch, sleep the hangover. It’s soft, my bed Is better, but it could work. I jerk my head and push the thoughts down.

Wallowing is fine, but only for a day. Self-pity wasn’t my forte. Fighting back was.

I’ll start with my father. It’s best I paid him a little visit.

****

“Son.”

He’s mastered