ready.
Chip reached out and patted me on the back, like his father had. But instead of a friendly pat, he smacked me as hard as he could. The blow sent me flying towards Bethany and the waiters loaded with champagne trays.
The world downshifted to slow motion.
The waiters stumbled, and their trays flew up. Bethany stepped backwards, then fell. My arms tried to catch her. My legs fought for balance. All the dads and dweebs stood, frozen, mouths open. The trays came down, and fifty champagne glasses hit the patio.
A million shards of glass and champagne exploded.
Bethany screamed.
As time sped up, just before I hit the ground, I noticed one more thing.
Bethany was barefoot.
She screamed again.
We went down in a heap speckled with glass and blood. Chip vanished into the roses.
7.
Half of the Milbury Brothers Trust’s board of directors were doctors. By the time the ambulance arrived, they’d stopped the bleeding and taken out most of the glass, but Bethany needed a shot and stitches in the bottom of her left foot.
The ambulance left, lights flashing, no sirens.
My mom retrieved her pasta salad from the bushes and put it in the car. Then she came back and patted my hand while one of the doctors looked me over and patched me up with a half dozen butterfly bandages. Hannah stayed next to me.
Dad had disappeared. We finally found him practicing spin control with his boss, trying to convince Mr. Milbury to sue the company that laid the slate around the pool because they clearly did a shoddy job, which had led to such dangerous conditions and the unfortunate accident.
Before we left, I found one of the doctors who had helped me and quietly asked him to slit my throat.
The guy said no and suggested I talk to my family doc about antidepressants.
8.
I spent most of Friday night playing Tophet. The graphics weren’t that great and it made my computer freeze regularly, but it was better than lying awake and loathing myself for hurting Bethany.
Tophet was Hell. The point of the game was to make your demon as powerful as possible and survive through the sixty-six Levels of Torment. After that, I wasn’t sure what would happen. Either he’d escape to Heaven or descend to the Final Pit and be crowned Lord of Darkness. It was unclear which option was better.
As soon as I opened the game, a herd of fallen angels swarmed my demon, Gormley. They tied him up and stuck him in one of the boiling cauldrons. It took forever to annihilate them. My fingers hit the buttons in the right sequence over and over. It normally sounded cool when he scored a kill—lots of hissing and yowling—but I had to keep it down so Dad didn’t hear me playing.
See, that was why I was a bad son. Lack of respect.
Miller men were disciplined. Miller men followed rules. Miller men toughed it out; they ate dirt and went for the kill.
That last one was a real quote. Dad said it to me when I was eleven, after I lost the Little League championship. The ball had been hit square to the shortstop and I took too much of a lead so I was trapped between third and home. Dad screamed for me to go, so I went, and I slid and was tagged by the catcher.
Grandpa Miller told Dad I was a pansy for not taking out the catcher’s legs and I didn’t want it bad enough and Dad agreed with him. Mom lost it in a very controlled way and told them they were both lunatics. She dragged me and Hannah home so I missed going with the team for hot dogs after the game.
I got stuck on Level Forty-Two. Gormley couldn’t get past the sulfur pits. Every time I tried to teach him how to swim, he drowned.
Stupid demon.
I made a note to myself to look for a lifejacket he could buy, swallowed four ibuprofen, and went to sleep just before three thirty.
9.
My alarm went off at five the next morning. First thought: It was a bad dream.
Second thought: No, it wasn’t.
Third thought: Crap.
I tried to eat some potato chips for breakfast, but I couldn’t choke them
Chip reached out and patted me on the back, like his father had. But instead of a friendly pat, he smacked me as hard as he could. The blow sent me flying towards Bethany and the waiters loaded with champagne trays.
The world downshifted to slow motion.
The waiters stumbled, and their trays flew up. Bethany stepped backwards, then fell. My arms tried to catch her. My legs fought for balance. All the dads and dweebs stood, frozen, mouths open. The trays came down, and fifty champagne glasses hit the patio.
A million shards of glass and champagne exploded.
Bethany screamed.
As time sped up, just before I hit the ground, I noticed one more thing.
Bethany was barefoot.
She screamed again.
We went down in a heap speckled with glass and blood. Chip vanished into the roses.
7.
Half of the Milbury Brothers Trust’s board of directors were doctors. By the time the ambulance arrived, they’d stopped the bleeding and taken out most of the glass, but Bethany needed a shot and stitches in the bottom of her left foot.
The ambulance left, lights flashing, no sirens.
My mom retrieved her pasta salad from the bushes and put it in the car. Then she came back and patted my hand while one of the doctors looked me over and patched me up with a half dozen butterfly bandages. Hannah stayed next to me.
Dad had disappeared. We finally found him practicing spin control with his boss, trying to convince Mr. Milbury to sue the company that laid the slate around the pool because they clearly did a shoddy job, which had led to such dangerous conditions and the unfortunate accident.
Before we left, I found one of the doctors who had helped me and quietly asked him to slit my throat.
The guy said no and suggested I talk to my family doc about antidepressants.
8.
I spent most of Friday night playing Tophet. The graphics weren’t that great and it made my computer freeze regularly, but it was better than lying awake and loathing myself for hurting Bethany.
Tophet was Hell. The point of the game was to make your demon as powerful as possible and survive through the sixty-six Levels of Torment. After that, I wasn’t sure what would happen. Either he’d escape to Heaven or descend to the Final Pit and be crowned Lord of Darkness. It was unclear which option was better.
As soon as I opened the game, a herd of fallen angels swarmed my demon, Gormley. They tied him up and stuck him in one of the boiling cauldrons. It took forever to annihilate them. My fingers hit the buttons in the right sequence over and over. It normally sounded cool when he scored a kill—lots of hissing and yowling—but I had to keep it down so Dad didn’t hear me playing.
See, that was why I was a bad son. Lack of respect.
Miller men were disciplined. Miller men followed rules. Miller men toughed it out; they ate dirt and went for the kill.
That last one was a real quote. Dad said it to me when I was eleven, after I lost the Little League championship. The ball had been hit square to the shortstop and I took too much of a lead so I was trapped between third and home. Dad screamed for me to go, so I went, and I slid and was tagged by the catcher.
Grandpa Miller told Dad I was a pansy for not taking out the catcher’s legs and I didn’t want it bad enough and Dad agreed with him. Mom lost it in a very controlled way and told them they were both lunatics. She dragged me and Hannah home so I missed going with the team for hot dogs after the game.
I got stuck on Level Forty-Two. Gormley couldn’t get past the sulfur pits. Every time I tried to teach him how to swim, he drowned.
Stupid demon.
I made a note to myself to look for a lifejacket he could buy, swallowed four ibuprofen, and went to sleep just before three thirty.
9.
My alarm went off at five the next morning. First thought: It was a bad dream.
Second thought: No, it wasn’t.
Third thought: Crap.
I tried to eat some potato chips for breakfast, but I couldn’t choke them
Similar Books
Red Rose
Mary Balogh
Crying for Help
Casey Watson
Indulge
Megan Duncan
Prince of Legend
Jack Ludlow
Lucky Break
Liliana Rhodes
PrimevalPassion
Cyna Kade
A red tainted Silence
Carolyn Gray
Nighttime at Willow Bay
Kasey Moone
Fencing You In
Cheyenne McCray