I glance around the apartment. The sliding door is unlocked, and the front door is ajar. My blood boils.
Glad he cares about my personal safety.
Me:
He left the doors open.
I’m alone in this sketchy neighborhood, and he’s off doing god-knows-what at the meth tents.
Alice:
Jesus. I’m sorry. That sounds like a nightmare.
Me:
I’m concerned.
He says he’d never do meth because his sister does it.
But I can’t actually think of a reason he’d be out at this hour.
Alice:
Yeah…
Underneath the desk, a pile of ti leaves catches my eye. It looks like a ti tree had a bukakke festival all over the ground.
Me:
He put ti leaves all over the floor. I’m going to kick his ass.
If he’s still alive.
Jesus.
I can’t stop thinking about the teenager who was shot right where it’s saying Timmy is currently located.
What the hell is he doing out at 3AM in a place where people have recently been murdered?
Alice:
This is not sustainable.
Me:
I’m so done.
But the truth is, I’ve said that before, and as I type it, the words feel hollow.
How many times have I said that?
And somehow, I’m still here—still cleaning up after his chaos.
Still hoping for something to change.
CHAPTER 50
THIS SHOULD BE FUN: LIVING WITH A LOSER