Save Me

I would be lying if I said that being able to leave the airport in a Lamborghini didn’t make me feel like hot shit. Our plane landed close to midnight and both Tryce and I were practically dead on our feet. It didn’t help that we were two generally loud teenagers surrounded by adults that were glaring at us with disdain since we weren’t used to the regular routines of an airport and found ourselves having to ask for directions on more than a few occasions.

But the satisfaction of seeing their eyes widen as a glossy black lambo pulled up right in front of us from the valet made a smug smirk adorn my face in a nanosecond. There’s not many things that I can thank my Dad for, but I love this damn car, I really do.

Not because I found the first one he bought me replaced with this one randomly or anything. But while we’re on the subject, this one is much better than the first one.

I sped home, Tryce practically asleep in the front seat. A tiny part of me wanted to lean over and flick his ear until he woke up, forcing him to stay up with me as we made the long ride home so someone would keep me awake, making it impossible for me to fall asleep at the wheel and crash. But honestly, I’m a big boy, I can stay awake. I’m responsible. I wouldn’t have taken the wheel if I had any doubts about making it home, but that doesn’t mean my eyelids slowly turned to lead the closer and closer we got to home.

And when we were home, I parked my car almost gratefully. All I wanted to do was trudge upstairs, fall into bed, and cuddle up next to Tryce as I pass the fuck out.

I leaned over the center console, carefully shaking Tryce awake, picking up his left hand and pecking his knuckles as he opened his eyes, an adorable gloominess present in them from being woken up in the midst of his nap.

“We’re home,” I told him, getting out of the door quickly, him following suit.

Within seconds, we both had our bags in hand and were heading inside of our house.

Unfortunately, we weren’t greeted with anything pleasant.

The gold-digger stood there, staring at us as she shoveled down some ice cream in a bright pink outfit that can only be disguised as a thing. It might have been a onsie for a fucking pregnant woman or some shit. I was struck with how much fatter she’s gotten. I really haven’t seen her since my first day here and my feelings of disgust toward her have only increased.

She looked at us before cocking her head to the side dramatically. “And where were you?” She questioned.

“Texas,” I spat, moving past her and dragging Tryce up the stairs, heading towards my bedroom.

“And who gave you permission to go to Texas?” She questioned, waddling up the stairs as fast as she could, refusing to allow her big belly to get in that much of a way. The fat ass didn’t want anything happening to her precious ice cream though.

“No one has to give me permission. I can do whatever the hell I want,” I argued, opening my bedroom door and carefully ushering Tryce inside with our luggage. “Why don’t you unpack and go to bed, tell your Dad we’re back in Florida? I’ll be right in,” I instructed him, leaving no room for him to object as I carefully closed the door in front of him.

“Your Dad had no clue where you were,” She argued, pointing her slimy spoon in my face.

I yanked the spoon out of her hand and threw it down the hall, a satisfied smirk adorning my face as I heard it begin to clank down the stairs. “My Dad means absolutely nothing to me,” I promised her, leaning against my bedroom door protectively as she scrutinized me.

“You were gone for days!” She argued.

“I’ve been gone for a week!” I said around a laugh. “And you guys didn’t even know because you don’t give a shit about me!”

“Maybe we would know this crap if you actually let us in!” She argued, glaring at me.

“What are you trying to be?” I asked, dumbfounded. “My mother? You’re closer to my age than you are my Dad’s. I have a mother and no one can ever fucking replace her, especially a whore like you. Turn around, go cry to my Dad, and have him ‘teach me one of his lessons’,” I said sarcastically. “I don’t want you.”

And with that, I turned on my heel and opened my bedroom door, leaving her with a disgusted snarl upon her face in the hallway, alone, clutching her precious carton of ice cream to her belly containing her devil spawn. The satisfying click of my lock echoed throughout my room as I grabbed a random chair and jammed it under the doorknob in case my father had a key. I want absolutely nothing to do with the bastard.

My hand placed itself on top of my head, ripping out the white bandana that I had stuck in my hair for the airplane ride home. God, I have never met someone as annoying and incompetent as my “step-mother.”

I sighed, noticing Tryce sitting in the middle of my bed, both of our bags unpacked and thrown near the front door of my closet haphazardly, a look of disbelief on his features.

“What?” I asked dumbfounded, rummaging around in the pockets of my sweatpants as I emptied my keys, my wallet, and a few breath mints onto my chest of drawers.

“I know you don’t like her,” he breathed, “but that’s no way to talk to a woman.”

I turned around, completely dumbfounded. “Are you telling me that I have to attempt to respect her?” I practically seethed, my voice rising as my shock levels grew.

“No,” he said, running his hand through his gorgeous curls. “You just have to be kinder. I mean, you may not like it, but she’s your step-mom-“

“Don’t say that word!” I cut in, stomping my foot like a child. That word is officially ejected from my own personal vocabulary.

“Okay, okay,” Tryce murmured as he rolled his eyes before looking at me again. “You may not like it, but she’s family now, and when a woman is pregnant her hormone levels are threw the roof and they’re really, really emotional. She could be balling her eyes out right now, Morgie.”

“I don’t care,” I grumbled, looking around, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“Of course you do,” he said. “When we were little, you would do everything in your power to make someone cheer up if you upset them. You hate upsetting people…”

“News flash, Tryce, we’re not the same as we were when we were little,” I spat, turning on him as I crossed my arms. “That leech ruined my fucking life and made Dad leave Mom and everything fucking fell apart and now I’m stuck with them in stupid Florida when I don’t even like it here because I hate the heat!” I screamed, throwing a tantrum as my hands waved around wildly. “I can’t even swim properly!”

“That’s a lie,” he cut in. “You’re getting much better.”

“I’m a teenager and I can’t even swim without a fucking buddy watching me!” I re-worded my response, staring at him.

“You don’t like Florida?” He finally asked, his fingers tangling together.

“Of course not! It’s not Texas! You were just in Texas, all my friends and the one person that means anything to me is in Texas! God, Tryce, are you really this dense?”

The second the words passed my lips, I wanted to suck them back in. They were released only due to a petty fit of rage.

“Oh,” he finally muttered, knitting his eyebrows together as his hands started to shake.

“I didn’t mean that,” I said desperately, not even daring to cross the room because I had a feeling he wanted to be nowhere near me. “It’s just that, I don’t have a fucking family, Tryce. My Mom’s gonna be gone so soon and she’s all I’ve got. The people in this house aren’t my family. And no matter what, you have your sister and your Dad and we both know that everything with your Mom is eventually going to work out once she cools down because you’re her pride and joy. I don’t have that and I’m never going to have that again. Just… fuck! I’m so fucking stupid and I shouldn’t have said that!” I babbled in a twisted form of both an explanation and an apology.

He looked at me and shook his head, bowing it seconds later as he slowly crumbled on my bed.

“I’m… I’m just going to go for a walk,” I muttered sadly, grabbing a sweatshirt and throwing it on over my t-shirt. The night breeze that walks hand in hand with the ocean can be very bothersome. “I’m sorry,” I said uselessly as I opened my window, climbing out of it and down the side of my house with ease.

I took off towards the beach, a destination in mind, and as I spotted Tryce’s lifeguarding chair, I climbed up the stairs and curled up on it, my legs hanging over the edge.

I have a feeling that no one that is currently within the confines of the place that I’m forced to call home really wants to see my face or talk to me right now.

The only thing I’m truly good at is fucking things up. And football, I guess. But I fucked that up too, didn’t I?