In Waves | ✔️

25 | wet and wild

It's the middle of the night and I'm restless. Tossing and turning, flipping over my pillow when it gets too hot. My mind won't shut down.

I heave out an irritated sigh, scraping my fingers over my scalp before I sit up. My eyes drift over Matt's roses that my mom put in a vase on my dresser. They're blood red in the dark. Almost black like the spots on the Dalmatian propped up next to them.

God, I like Matt so much. Despite the Simone and Sean hiccup at the restaurant, that date turned out to be better than I ever imagined. And Nate... I need to not think about Nate.

A thump outside makes me jolt. I slide out of bed, cautiously peering through my window and opening it when I find Rob on the roof. He's stumbling around, struggling to open his own window. I hastily climb out before he can fall and break his neck. I didn't need to smell the stench of beer on him to know that he's drunk.

"I told you not to use the tree when you're like this!" I hiss, gripping his arm.

"I'm fiiiine." He waves me away, almost poking my eye out. "The tree's fiiiine."

The snapped branch and loose leaves scattered over the roof shingles would disagree.

Derek once caught Rob sneaking in after a night of partying, which led to lectures and groundings and everything Rob would risk his life to avoid, which is why he now drunkenly climbs the towering oak tree next to the roof. It's okay if he's steady enough, his natural coordination works in his favor. But watching him swaying around, I can tell he's gone overboard tonight. Being up here when his weight could send us both flying over the edge if he staggers back is making me anxious.

I open his window and help him through, but he loses his footing and topples to the floor, knocking into his desk as he goes. He groans as I pull him up. His eyes are unfocused, face pale.

"Are you going to throw up?"

He nods, and I shuffle him to the bathroom as silently as I can, ripping open the toilet lid in the nick of time. While he loses whatever contents he had in his stomach, I pace downstairs to the kitchen to get him a glass of water.

I wish I could say this is the first time I've done this. These nights come once in a while, but they started coming more recently. Where he gets so wasted he's hardly functional. Where I have to make sure Mom doesn't find him passed out in a pool of his own vomit in the morning.

Rob's hunched over the toilet bowl when I walk in, breathing hard. "When did I eat tacos?"

Lord.

I set the water on the sink and get out a washcloth, wondering how he ended up like this tonight. It started happening more this summer, which is when he started hanging out with Nate and that group.

What do they do? Go to grimy underground clubs? Go to parties I don't hear about? Or do they just get hammered in some empty parking lot, only drinking to get drunk. Is that where Nate went after the carnival? After he saw me and Matt...

Rob collapses to the floor and slumps his back against the toilet. I wipe his face down, simultaneously closing the lid and flushing. His head lolls and he tries dodging the cloth like a toddler fighting a face wash in the tub, moaning and groaning with sluggish stubbornness. I give him the water and his glazed eyes finally focus on me.

"Lia," he mumbles, looking at me like he's just realized I'm here.

"Hey." I lift his hand that's limply holding the glass. "Drink that, you'll feel better."

He gives it the same puzzled look, probably questioning where it materialized from. He downs the water so fast I think he might throw up again, but he just coughs and looks at me. His eyes are a little clearer.