Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own. slavery=bad.
A/N: I got sick last night and I'm really sorry for no post but I was kind of counting on none of you to check if my story was updated yet! He he, sorry!
Chapter 3
Tripping up the steps from the driveway, Eric almost drops an armful of groceries. He kicks open the unlocked, screen door and places the bags on the counter.
"Help me get those bags out of the car!" The agitated college student shouts while exiting to return to the car.
Consumed with unpacking groceries, he hardly notices the emptiness of the shore house. His shirt hugs his shoulders uncomfortably in the humidity of the room. After changing into a cotton tee, Eric turns up the air conditioning. Leaving his wallet on the counter, he steps onto the porch with an iced tea just as Jack enters through the back door.
"Hello?" The spiky haired brunette opens the fully stocked refrigerator and grabs a bottle of water.
"Out here." A mumble carries through an open window to the kitchen.
"Hey," Jack winces as he watches Eric nursing a tall glass of brandy. "I thought you didn't drink," the older sits in the rocker next to his roommate.
"I don't." Eric states, firmly understanding that his friend thinks he's drinking liquor rather than the iced tea that occupies his glass. At this, Eric takes a long swig from his glass and chews loudly on an ice cube. Jack watches intrigued. He's never seen Eric drunk before and is afraid that he'll act like every other drunk he's known-violent and abusive.
"I took back my wallet," he comments referring to a few moments before he found Eric when he swapped the wallets on the counter. Slightly confused, Eric shrugs and gets up. Turning around abruptly, he asks,
"Where did Cory go? And Shawn?" He's clearly perturbed by Jack's presence and would like a different form of company.
"Uh. I don't know," the shorter shakes his head.
"Nice help you are," Eric's words sound more angry than sarcastic; this pleases Eric. As an involuntary defense mechanism, Jack's hurt quickly turns to anger.
"What's wrong? Eric, tell me!" He knocks the water bottle out of his own hand, pounding his fist against the house.
"I thought we already went over this." The hiss escapes Eric's lips with an anger that startles both of them.
"I'm not going to argue with a drunk!" Jack spits into Eric's face. He storms into the kitchen, turning his back to Eric. With emotions taking all control away from the man abandoned in the sunset, Eric throws his glass against the wall not a foot from Jack's head. As the glass makes contact with the wood it explodes sending shards, ice, and tea around the carpeted living room. Jack comes to a halt, feeling like a small child, terrified of what Eric may do.
"Don't you dare call me a drunk!" His anger paralyzes his tongue, and for a second he did slur. Jack says nothing. He's too scared to turn around. "Where were you today? You can't tell me where our brothers are. Can you at least tell me why I came home to an empty, unfamiliar house?" He pauses. "Or is Eric, the stupid fuck, too insignificant to know?!" He slams the screen door, accentuating the word 'fuck,' and approaches Jack.
Jack's mind reverts to that of an eight year old cowering in the corner of a dark room, watching shadows cross the walls and ceiling. His hands shake with the fear of the eight year old inside him. His entire body stiffens as Eric grabs Jack's shoulders and spins him around. Tears threaten to fall as Jack stares into the eyes of his drunken uncle, cousin, and friend's father, not Eric.
Immediately, Eric drops his hands from Jack's shoulders. Seeing the horrified look in his best friend's eyes, Eric snaps out of anger and into concern.
"Jack, look at me." Eric notices that it's as if Jack is looking past his eyes and into something else. "Jack." He watches as Jack squeezes his eyes closed. Should I shake him awake? Or will that traumatize him or something? Eric taps Jack on the arm unsure of what is going on. "Jack, come on buddy. I'm sorry."
His eyes remain closed, but his hands stop trembling.
"Yell at me or something, please." Eric will try anything to get through to his zombie-like friend. Finally, the tears that had been building up pour down Jack's cheeks. Finding the sight of his friend crying unbearable, Eric wraps him in a warm embrace. When Jack's muscles tense, Eric talks soothingly into his ear. "Jack, come on. It's me. You know. Eric? I'm so sorry. You know that I don't drink; it was iced tea. I promise. Look, if you snap out of this I'll lick is off the floor on my hands and knees," he jokes trying to reach his friend.
"On your hands and knees?" Jack questions only catching the end of the conversation Eric was having with himself.
A/N: I got sick last night and I'm really sorry for no post but I was kind of counting on none of you to check if my story was updated yet! He he, sorry!
Chapter 3
Tripping up the steps from the driveway, Eric almost drops an armful of groceries. He kicks open the unlocked, screen door and places the bags on the counter.
"Help me get those bags out of the car!" The agitated college student shouts while exiting to return to the car.
Consumed with unpacking groceries, he hardly notices the emptiness of the shore house. His shirt hugs his shoulders uncomfortably in the humidity of the room. After changing into a cotton tee, Eric turns up the air conditioning. Leaving his wallet on the counter, he steps onto the porch with an iced tea just as Jack enters through the back door.
"Hello?" The spiky haired brunette opens the fully stocked refrigerator and grabs a bottle of water.
"Out here." A mumble carries through an open window to the kitchen.
"Hey," Jack winces as he watches Eric nursing a tall glass of brandy. "I thought you didn't drink," the older sits in the rocker next to his roommate.
"I don't." Eric states, firmly understanding that his friend thinks he's drinking liquor rather than the iced tea that occupies his glass. At this, Eric takes a long swig from his glass and chews loudly on an ice cube. Jack watches intrigued. He's never seen Eric drunk before and is afraid that he'll act like every other drunk he's known-violent and abusive.
"I took back my wallet," he comments referring to a few moments before he found Eric when he swapped the wallets on the counter. Slightly confused, Eric shrugs and gets up. Turning around abruptly, he asks,
"Where did Cory go? And Shawn?" He's clearly perturbed by Jack's presence and would like a different form of company.
"Uh. I don't know," the shorter shakes his head.
"Nice help you are," Eric's words sound more angry than sarcastic; this pleases Eric. As an involuntary defense mechanism, Jack's hurt quickly turns to anger.
"What's wrong? Eric, tell me!" He knocks the water bottle out of his own hand, pounding his fist against the house.
"I thought we already went over this." The hiss escapes Eric's lips with an anger that startles both of them.
"I'm not going to argue with a drunk!" Jack spits into Eric's face. He storms into the kitchen, turning his back to Eric. With emotions taking all control away from the man abandoned in the sunset, Eric throws his glass against the wall not a foot from Jack's head. As the glass makes contact with the wood it explodes sending shards, ice, and tea around the carpeted living room. Jack comes to a halt, feeling like a small child, terrified of what Eric may do.
"Don't you dare call me a drunk!" His anger paralyzes his tongue, and for a second he did slur. Jack says nothing. He's too scared to turn around. "Where were you today? You can't tell me where our brothers are. Can you at least tell me why I came home to an empty, unfamiliar house?" He pauses. "Or is Eric, the stupid fuck, too insignificant to know?!" He slams the screen door, accentuating the word 'fuck,' and approaches Jack.
Jack's mind reverts to that of an eight year old cowering in the corner of a dark room, watching shadows cross the walls and ceiling. His hands shake with the fear of the eight year old inside him. His entire body stiffens as Eric grabs Jack's shoulders and spins him around. Tears threaten to fall as Jack stares into the eyes of his drunken uncle, cousin, and friend's father, not Eric.
Immediately, Eric drops his hands from Jack's shoulders. Seeing the horrified look in his best friend's eyes, Eric snaps out of anger and into concern.
"Jack, look at me." Eric notices that it's as if Jack is looking past his eyes and into something else. "Jack." He watches as Jack squeezes his eyes closed. Should I shake him awake? Or will that traumatize him or something? Eric taps Jack on the arm unsure of what is going on. "Jack, come on buddy. I'm sorry."
His eyes remain closed, but his hands stop trembling.
"Yell at me or something, please." Eric will try anything to get through to his zombie-like friend. Finally, the tears that had been building up pour down Jack's cheeks. Finding the sight of his friend crying unbearable, Eric wraps him in a warm embrace. When Jack's muscles tense, Eric talks soothingly into his ear. "Jack, come on. It's me. You know. Eric? I'm so sorry. You know that I don't drink; it was iced tea. I promise. Look, if you snap out of this I'll lick is off the floor on my hands and knees," he jokes trying to reach his friend.
"On your hands and knees?" Jack questions only catching the end of the conversation Eric was having with himself.