Hornet's Nest Ch. 08

"What did you want to talk to him about?"

"Everything."

"I do know what he did to you. Well, not him, his dad."

"What?"

"He killed your dad, and your cousins?" I looked around and met a hard stare. "He told me all about it."

"What did he tell you?"

"Like, everything?"

He shifted his weight. "No,what?"

My mind read his movements as potential aggression. For fuck sake, I didn't want to be around a drunken Mr. Sörensen losing his shit.

He leant away from me again as he watched my bristling. "Tell me what he told you."

I tossed him something close to a glare. His reaction was offence.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Tell me, please."

"I don't know, just... Your dad, he screwed over his dad, or something? He fucked up something to do with business, and he stole his wife?"

Darren's eyes were already glazing with alcohol, but he blinked, trying hard to grasp onto something sober. "What?"

"That's just what he said-"

"Wife? My dad stole his wife?"

"Yeah, his mum. He sounded pretty bitter about it."

He stared at the TV with wide eyes, like some epiphany washed over him. "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. That's what he said?"

"Yeah, that's what he said."

He placed his glass on the coffee table and buried his face into his hands, mumbling another muffled, "Oh my God."

"... You didn't know?"

"I've never known, I've never known what my father did." He looked up. "He stole Driscoll's wife? Fucking hell. I'm not... I'm not even surprised." He blinked at nothing in particular. "It even makes sense."

"Err."

"My mother died when I was a baby. There were always women, coming and going, you know? Dad never settled, though. No, okay, he managed that. Okay."

Drunk people can be hard enough to understand when you actually know what they're going on about. Darren reached for the bottle and poured himself his sixth glass.

"Can I-" I started, but watched him for a second, wondering if he was going to kill himself if I left him alone. "Can I take a shower?"

"Yes, of course." He didn't look at me, staring at the TV over the rim of his glass instead. "Clean towels in the cupboard on the landing."

I spent much longer in that shower than normal. It felt like I had a lot of dirt to wash off. When I didn't think I could get any cleaner, I sat on the floor with my back against the tiles, thinking in blank circles. Finally finding the willpower to get to my feet and turn off the water, I wiped down the steamed mirror and checked the cut on my face. It looked a bit better, at least.

I wished I had clean clothes. My things were still at Amelia and Zack's house. I'd left that backpack at Harold's.

Harold was probably wondering what was going on. I should charge my phone. I didn't want to. I didn't want anyone to contact me.

The TV was still on. Darren was sprawled across the sofa and unconscious. The empty bottle proudly dominated the coffee table. Good fucking God. At least there seemed to be someone in that situation who was more of a wreck than me.

I thought I probably shouldn't just leave him like that. I reached out to touch his shoulder, but hesitated and pulled back. What was this man? Good-natured, or just stupid? After everything I'd done, he still happily took me into his home, and drank himself into that state, leaving me 'unattended'. I could've stolen things, taken one of those flashy cars, fucked off and disappeared with it. I could've been mentally unstable and murdered him.

The realisation that I had no intention of doing anything even close, was almost like an epiphany of my own. I wasn't fucking scum of the earth. I had a desire to prove that his trust in me wasn't misplaced.

I shook his shoulder, then a second time before I got a grumbled response.

"You should, err, probably go to bed."

He grunted. "How strong are you?"

"Not strong enough to carry you."

He let out one of those drunken chuckles and pushed himself up, eventually made it to his feet, then staggered out into the hall. He made it up the stairs pretty well. I turned everything off - TV and lights - and found the room I'd stayed in last time.

I had a tiny shred of hope that there might be some trace of David still there, some faint scent on the sheets. They'd been changed and only smelt like fabric softener. I missed him. I missed him so much it was like my body ached. What insane part of me had ever decided to do something to endanger my relationship with him?

My fucking parents. I still had no idea where they were, if they were alive.

I'm surprised how easily I fell asleep. I guess in those early stages, my mind hadn't the time to decide on what I should be losing sleep over yet. It was all the same lump of a shitfest.

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