Page 65 of Micah

“It's not even four-thirty.”

“Yeah? Big fucking deal, Sloane.”

“You look like shit and you're slurring your words.”

His nostrils flare.

“Are you my mother now? Is that it?”

“What? No.”

“You playing like you’re my big sister now?”

“Patrick, no. That’s not it. But you’re acting?—”

“What I do doesn’t concern you! Mind your damn business, you fat bitch.”

The words hit harder than they should.

Not because he's never spoken to me like that before.

He has.

But it’s been a while.

And after the last time shit blew up in our faces, Patrick promised me he’d change.

And now? Now, I don't believe him.

I don’t think this is nothing.

Because I know something's wrong.

Really wrong.

A sick feeling settles in my stomach.

I think back.

The last few nights he’s been weird.

Evasive. Secretive.

Phone calls he's been walking outside to take.

Cash disappearing from the register before being mysteriously “found.”

I recall the second mortgage on his house years ago. He blamed the medical bills.

I only just learned that most of those are still unpaid.

Gone into collection.

I haven’t confronted him yet.

When I think about it all?

The moves.