DUI

TW: Substances

"I'm sorry."

I almost choke on my vodka. "You're sorry?"

"Yeah, Anya. People change, y'know? Remember Katelyn?"

"Yeah, maybe her, but not you. You're just trying to steal my drinks." I take another sip, raising my eyebrows playfully at my little sister. "Remember Sunday School? If you steal my vodka, you're a sinner."

"If you don't listen to Mom, you're a sinner."

"Yeah, well, Mom's okay with me drinking. Not you. You're only fifteen, Belle."

"Whatever. The drinks aren't yours, either. They're dad's," Annabelle pouts, reaching for my cup.

"Yeah, but he's like, never home, so..." I swat her away and take another long sip, the warmth flooding my body.

"Since when do you drink so much, Anya? You never drank when I was in middle school."

"Shut up, Belle. You're gonna make me remember the past."

Annabelle gives me a sly smile. "That's a bad thing?"

"Yeah. I don't wanna relive middle school."

"Me, neither. And I won't want to relive high school when I'm done with it."

"I wish I could go back to that," I say, staring into space. "High school was fun."

"Yeah, 'cause Mom didn't keep you in a frickin' cage the whole time."

I laugh. "Yeah, it's funny to watch you slam your door in her face every time she catches you talking to older boys on snap."

"Okay, that's so not fair. She always tells me to be more social!"

"Yeah, but all those kids are, like, eighty-year-old men."

Annabelle hits me on the shoulder. "Shut up, Anya! I'm not that stupid."

"You're pretty stupid."

"Am not!"

"Am too! Remember last year when you had your first drink and you were all over Jason?"

"It wasn't that bad! He's like, barely related to us!"

"He's our cousin, Belle. And I'm pretty sure that's exactly why Mom doesn't let you drink."

Annabelle opens her mouth to retort, but backs down.

I smirk. My sister can be really stupid sometimes, but at least she knows who's boss when Mom's not home. "So, what're you and Frankie gonna do about it?"

"About what?"

"About what you apologized for?"

"That's like me asking you when you're gonna move out of Mom's basement," Annabelle complains.

I smile a little. I've been living here forever. I moved out for three months last year when I thought I had a solid living. I lost my job two days after, and everything just went downhill from there. Damn, though, my sister sure does know how to make a retort. I've taught her well.

"Belle, I'm not gonna forgive you until you do something about it," I say, finishing off my vodka.

Annabelle folds her arms, glaring at me. "It's hard enough to convince Frankie to help me do anything. And to make her actually get a job or something? No way. You know she would never."

I shrug. "Guess you're a lost cause, then." Annabelle pouts, and I laugh. "Don't get too down on yourself. It's not too bad, your sister being mad at you. Isn't that how we lived since, like, you were born?"

"Shut up," she says sharply, her eyes glaring daggers at me. This time she isn't joking, and I stop smiling, narrowing my eyes at her. "Can't you, just, not for one second, Anya?"

"My bad, Bells. Hand me the vodka?"

She takes it, slowly examining it, then opens it, and takes a swig.

Alarm bells seem to go off in my brain. I'd like to think I'm not traumatized, but even now, four months later, the image of the crash flashes through my brain. I instinctively tug it out of Annabelle's hands, frowning. "Annabelle. Really?"

She burps, giving me a satisfied smile. "Tasty. I could drink a whole friggin' bottle."

I wrinkle my nose at her. "You're disgusting. Go do your homework."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Go call Frankie, then, for the love of God! Or go ride your bike around town. Or...I don't know...go water Mom's sunflowers! Just leave me alone!"

"You son of a--" she thinks better of it, seeing my smirk. "Nevermind. I guarantee you're adopted!" She wriggles off of the bar stool.

"Well, you're too short to be in this family," I call after her.

"I envy the people who haven't met you in their lives!"

"It's mutual," I say, half to myself, smiling sadly as I swirl the vodka in the cup. I love my little sister.

"Screw you and all your dingy alcoholic beverages!" Annabelle screeches.

 I wait for a moment as she stomps out before piping up. "Hey, Belle?"

"What the frick-frack do you want?" she says through her teeth, spinning around on one heel.

"Can you get me a sprite? This vodka is tasting a little spicy."

"Why would I get you a sprite?" she shouts as she slams the door behind her.

I snort. High-school-Annabelle is slightly better than when she was in middle school. I don't miss that one bit.

I finish my second cup and sigh, staring at the wall. Maybe she has a point, despite all that. I have been drinking a little more than usual, and it's really not good. I haven't gotten drunk yet, but if I continue like this, I'd hate to imagine what would happen.

I put down my cup and put my head in my hands. Annabelle likes to pretend she's okay; a capable, feisty, little teenager, but she needs me. She needs me and Mom to protect her from the world. She doesn't know all the dangers of the world yet.

Annabelle comes back into the bar only moments later, phone in her hand. "I'm gonna call Frankie. I'll see what she says about...the thing."

I nod and throw my cup in the trash, fixing my hair. "Do I look super drunk?"

"Just a little woozy," Annabelle replies, opening her Snapchat and clicking on the profile labeled, Toe Eater. 

    I snort. Every week it seems, Frankie gets a name change. Last week she was BBG. Before that she was Killer Nugget, and even before that she was Frankie McFranksters. 

  The dial tone barely even rings for half a second, before Frankie's curly brown hair and gold-rimmed glasses blink into view, In a raspy voice she squeals into the phone, "Belly Button!"

  "Hey, Frankie, can I--" Annabelle begins, but she gets cut off by a sudden clamoring from the background.

  "Fernanda-Marie Arguello!" Frankie's father's voice comes angrily from the background. "You shouldn't be talking to that brat anymore!"

  I roll my eyes and give Annabelle a look. 

    She shrugs. "Her Papi doesn't approve of me, but Frankie's a good friend. I promise."

  I give her a side eye and sigh. Frankie and Annabelle met only two years ago, back at the end of eighth grade, when she moved here. I didn't like her from the start. She was too loud, too bold, and she took too many risks. Sure, it was good to help reduce Annabelle's anxiety, but all Frankie did was get her in trouble. I blame her for Dad more than I blame Annabelle.

    "Papi, Papi, stopp," Frankie says, rolling her eyes and giggling. "I'm not vaping 'cause of Belly, I'm vaping 'cause I want to, duh!" She giggles some more, then starts coughing uncontrollably. "Uh, Bells, I gotta go. Call ya back?"

  "Frankie--" Annabelle sighs, but she's cut off by the beeping of the dial tone. "Sorry, Anya. That was a bust."

  "All good. But she's gotta fix it along with you, or your apology still doesn't work," I say, crossing my arms and leaning back against the bar.

  "We'll get a job together," Annabelle murmurs, leaning her head into my shoulder and looking up at me. "We'll pay the fine. I promise, Anya. Dad won't go to jail. Not for me, anyways. I promise I won't let him."

  "I believe you, Bells," I murmur, pulling her into a hug. "I believe you'll be better from now on."

  She smiles up at me and wriggles out from under my arms. "I'm gonna go to the shop; see if I can get Frankie again."

  "Mmkay," I say sleepily, rubbing my eyes. "Don't get into too much trouble."

  "I'll try!"

  I sigh, watching Annabelle walk out. I love her so much. I wish I could forgive her right now.

  I walk back over to the vodka and pour myself another drink. As I swirl it in the cup, I close my eyes and just breathe. It's making me anxious, thinking about all the things that I have to deal with. I'm an adult now, and it's terrifying.

  This glass in my hand is terrifying.

  And I take a drink anyways. I'm responsible. I'm not an alcoholic. I'm not drunk. And I won't get drunk.

    What are the chances that what happened to Dad will happen to me, after all?