Chasing Shadows | ✓

Chapter Eleven

"YOU'RE UNUSUALLY QUIET."

"What are you talking about? I'm always quiet," I muttered. I stabbed at the dry salad that was in front of me, pushing around the leaves with no intention of eating them.

Natalia cocked her head to the side as if examining me. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, softly reflecting the light that shone in from the windows, while her eyes glinted, drawing me in a daze; refusing to let me go.

"Stop it," I said, my voice coming out harsher than I wanted.

"Stop what?" she asked, seemingly unbothered by my tone. Her smile was warm with a hint of shyness, which only irritated me more.

"That," I rolled my eyes, "That thing you do where it feels like you're looking into my soul. It makes me uncomfortable. Stop it."

"I didn't know I could do that," she grinned.

"Well now that you do, stop." I grumbled, "It's weird."

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and leaned forward slightly, "I'll try. But just so you know, if you stab your plate any harder, you're probably going to break your fork."

I looked down to see tiny shreds of lettuce scattered on my plate. Heaving a sigh, I chucked my fork down with a loud clatter, before leaning over and grabbing my bottle. It could have been water in the glass but it wasn't. It wasn't but no-one would have guessed otherwise. The burning sensation turned down the volume on my thoughts and I gulped more back.

"I really hope that's water," Natalia casually commented, "Although I don't know why someone would wince while drinking water."

"I have a sore throat," I rasped, "That's why."

She shot me a knowing stare, "I really don't know why you feel the need to keep lying."

"I'm not," I denied, before taking another swig, "Just back off, okay?"

"Trevor," her voice took on a hard edge, "Fine. If that's water, let me have a sip."

"What? No, just get your own from over there," I nodded my head towards the vending machines.

"Why won't you let me have a sip?" she challenged.

I slammed the bottle down on the table and shot her a deadly glare, "What the hell is your problem?"

"I think you're the one who has a problem here," she countered, "It's not even one yet and you're already drinking? And in school?"

"I told you it was water," I scoffed, "If you don't want to believe me, that's fine."

"Don't even dare think you can turn this around on me," she pointed a finger at me, "Give me the bottle."

I tipped the bottle back, feeling the keen burn on my tongue and throat. I closed my eyes for a second, savoring its bitter taste. However, the bottle was snatched from my grip and my eyes snapped open to see Natalia holding it out of my reach.

"Give it back," I growled.

She took a quick sniff before scrunching her face up, "God, that smells awful."

"Natalia," I hissed, "Stop sticking your nose in my Goddamn business and give it back to me."

"You know my Father was an alcoholic?" She murmured, avoiding my attempts to snatch it back. "There wasn't one day where he was sober, at least as far as I can remember. In the mornings he would add brandy to his coffee, and he always had another drink mid-mornings. By the time dinner time came around, he would be slumped in his chair, unable to string two words together. I mean, he did everything drunk. Driving, shopping, and working. . . But if you asked him, he would never admit that he had a problem."

"I'm not a fucking alcoholic if that's what you're trying to say," I snapped before taking a deep breath before speaking in a calmer voice, "Look, I'm sorry about your father but I'm not the same as him."

She glanced down at the bottle in her hand before raising her gaze back to me.

Knowing what she was trying to imply, I ran a rough hand through my hair, "I just had a shit day yesterday, okay? I need something to help me get through the day."

"Are you even listening to yourself?" Natalia frowned, "Why do you have to depend on alcohol to cope with whatever happened?"

A bitter laugh left my lips, "Do I look like I have anything or anyone else to depend on?"

"You know this isn't the answer right?" she spoke in a gentle tone.

"No, but it sure fucking helps forget the question," I snorted, "Now are you going to give that back to me or not?"

She shook her head and looked at me desperately, "You don't understand, Trevor. One sip turns into two sips. Two sips turn into a whole bottle and before you know it -"

I pushed back my seat, the loud scraping of its feet filling the room. Grabbing my bag, I swung it over my shoulder. I didn't need to sit here and listen to her lecturing me. I didn't have a problem; so what if I had a drink every now and again? That didn't mean I was alcoholic.

Natalia stumbled to her feet, holding a hand out, "Wait -"

"Piss off," I snarled, "I'm seriously not in the mood for you today, Natalia."

Every time I unleashed my anger on someone, I rationalized it. They deserved it, I thought. There was the explosion of rage, followed by the mental framework afterwards to avoid the guilt, avoiding owning the shame that was mine. That was the exact reason I would remain immature, refusing to learn; but that pain and realization, on the rare occasions that I let it in, was more school than any classroom ever was for me.

Alcohol wasn't the problem. I was.

And that was why I needed to be the one to go.

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