I don't own Grand Theft Auto.
Enjoy.
Drunken Grief
Everything looked quiet and asleep in the McReary household, lights were off and curtains were shut. I let myself in since I doubted anyone else would be up and Packie was either passed out by now or too drunk and or stoned to care.
It was eerily quiet and I felt on edge because of it, plus I didn't want to switch the lights on in case his mother or Derrick wandered out of nowhere and demanded why I was there. I made my way up the stairs quietly and examined each door, I realised there was another floor too. I vaguely wondered which room was Kate's but I left it aside; I was here for Packie. The door on my left had light coming out from under it so someone was still awake but I wasn't sure if it was his Mother's room and I didn't want to walk in and disturb her, I knocked on the door quietly and I could rustling and a thump accompanied by swearing; that was Packie's voice.
I pushed open the door gently and got an eyeful of dark underwear as he just pulled up his jeans.
"Hey Packie," I greeted quietly as I stepped inside his room for the first time.
It was a small room and because of that it seemed quite crowded, baring his single bed that was shoved in one corner, a bedside table which also looked as a cross with a chest of drawers, then a desk and a wardrobe that took up the wall across from the bed. The desk was a mess; a gun, ammo, coke, magazines, plates, bottles. There were a few books and everyday things like a razor; aftershave and cologne that I could also spot in the light of a small lamp which served as the only light source in the room making the white walls seem cream coloured with a beige carpet.
Rather a neutral looking room for Patrick as I had thought everything would've been green with clovers and Irish logo's everywhere.
"Eh?" Packie turned round to face me looking confused. "Niko boy, what'cha doin' here?"
He forgot already?
"I'm-"
"Shh," he did this loudly despite making me be quiet and pointed to his bed, grinning dopily. What I thought was just his covers flung over and scrunched up I saw in the glow of the small lamp that there was a girl there, dark hair and a forehead peeking out of the top of the covers.
"Gotta be quiet," Patrick whispered loudly with a crooked smirk.
Looks like he had the same idea as me; have sex to take your mind off it.
I nodded.
"Let's go downstairs, okay?"
"Alrighty then Niko, let's go." Packie spoke quite cheerfully and again loudly, despite the shushing just a few seconds ago, and marched drunkenly out the door and I floundered for a second, wondering if I should help him down the stairs in case he fell.
A loud thump and a string of curses led me to close his bedroom door quietly and attempt to give him a hand which he noisily denied with a squawk of "What? I ain't completely fucked yet, man."
After a few odd minutes of watching Patrick attempt to walk quietly down the stairs and through doorways, quite lucky so far however I took pity on him and steered him the rest of the way to the kitchen, I gave him a soft push on his back to move him to sit down on one of the stools at the island table, he did so, slumped forward on it and watched me meander about.
"I can't be fuckin' bothered with caring anymore man, what am I supposed to do? What the fuck am I supposed to do? I haven't even told Gerry yet." He burbled out, his good cheeky mood seemingly gone.
I didn't have an answer and chances were that he wouldn't remember any of this in the morning so I kept foraging in the McReary kitchen, hunting for where the coffee was as I set about making something to get him sober and less likely to freak out. It was now he was reminding me of his sister; the most mess of a drunk I had ever gotten drunk with and to be honest it was quite frightening seeing her swing from angry to floods of tears in three seconds. Maybe it would make him feel better if I told him about the resemblance.
"You ever saw Kate drunk? You're reminding me of her."
"Hah, yeah I saw her drunk, the most miserable fucking drunk I ever had the misfortune to get drunk with."
"Says you,"
"Hey at least I can be cheery a lot of the time, I have reason to be miserable right now,"
There was a few seconds of silence punctuated only by the rumbling of the kettle when I he sniffed, I thought nothing f it until I heard the ruffle of clothes moving and I glanced back to see that he had placed his head in his hands. It was a jolt for it to resemble the thought I had of him earlier sat like this, crying. His face was red, screwed up and eyes closed but tears were starting to roll down his face. Forehead scrunched up and his mouth was open but his teeth were clenched, like he was trying to stop or be quieter.
The kettle clicked to show it had finished and as the rumbling died down all was heard was Packie's harsh breathing as he struggled to keep it in.
I'd seen men cry before, in the war, but not like this. Such an open display of crying, I wasn't adverse to it, if I felt like crying then I often did when I was alone however in this situation I wasn't alone, it was affecting me too and I found myself shaking my head to clear the feeling of wanting to cry. I'd seen Roman cry before but he was my cousin, I had seen him cry a lot not for long though, an optimist through and through. I wondered what he would do or say in this situation.
"Patrick..." I wasn't sure what to say, I was just saying his name in general and hoped he say something back.
He didn't.
Obviously when a person see's someone else; a friend, family member, the instinct is to comfort them. I had that instinct; I just wasn't to good at showing it.
I moved slowly to sit next to him, the kitchen was too quiet and if I was honest I preferred him talking, no matter how miserable or masochistic he could get, I preferred words over tears. I placed my hand on his shoulder and waited.
Packie didn't react.
I heard a door open and close somewhere in the house. Sounded like the front door, I guessed it was the girl from upstairs, I figured she was probably a prostitute unless Packie had a friend with benefits.
"Fucking hell Niko." Patrick had spoken through gritted teeth and inhaled shakily which sounded far too close to a sob, he faced the counter top as though he were ashamed that he was crying, he didn't need to feel ashamed, his sister has died.
What do I say?
It's okay?
Everything will be fine?
"I'm sorry, Packie."
"What the fuck for?" Came another gritted response, still no movement however.
I had a feeling this might make him angry but…
"She was with me, Pegorino shot her but he was aiming for me…"
"You don't think I haven't thought about that." He sounded less upset but bordering on a dangerous tone, I found I had nothing else to say to that. Regardless of the guilt I felt, if he didn't blame me then he didn't, if he did…then I would have to deal with it.
"You're a prince but you can be a fucking hypocrite sometimes Niko," Patrick sniffed and finally lifted his head.
He gazed ahead of him.
"You think Derrick could keep his mouth shut about you shooting Frankie?"
