You look like shit.

Luka pov

By the time my youngest brother storms into my office, I've already forgotten how many whiskey bottles I've emptied.

My father used to say that social drinking isn't a problem if you can control yourself under the influence, but it becomes a real problem once you start drinking alone. Maybe he was right, but the last thing I need is company. It's just me, the whiskey and my thoughts.

"You look like shit," Lenox laughs as he drops into the small armchair.

He looks ridiculous sitting there; his body is far too big for him to be comfortable. But who am I to point that out to him? Besides, his clothes are covered in blood, and I'm pretty sure it's not his, and I don't want to hear about his midnight adventures.

Whatever reason he had to come here will end in one of two things - I'll throw up after he tells me about the fun he had, or I'll call our parents and try to put pressure on the asylum we talked about.

"Why are you here?" I try to look past him. The sight of blood oft