Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 133180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
With a glass of ice and the bottle of whisky, Edison sat on his living room couch, choosing to keep the lights low since his head was aching behind his swollen eyes. Alcohol probably wasn’t going to help that, but Edison didn’t know what else to do. He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted this day to be over. He had no friends to call and talk anything out with. His uncle would only grumble at him for taking the damn tie in the first place… which was stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did I do that? He checked his phone.
Nothing.
Edison poured himself a full glass, figuring he’d be flat on his back by the time he finished half of that. He put the glass to his mouth, the harsh scent stinging his nose. He held his breath and took a large gulp, swallowing it fast so it didn’t linger on his taste buds. He wasn’t a drinker, not even a beer while watching a game, so he had a feeling this might be a mistake.
Edison hissed through his clenched teeth as the cool liquid burned the heck out of his chest, then settled in the pit of his empty stomach like lava. How do people drink this all the time? Edison coughed and hacked, then took another even bigger gulp. “Euugh. Gosh.” Okay, he figured that had to be enough to knock him out. He hoped so, because he didn’t think he could stomach any more.
Edison set the glass beside him just in case and waited for some kind of feeling to hit him. While his stomach churned unhappily, he removed his messenger bag from where he’d tossed it on the couch and set it at his feet. He was about to lie down when the silver material of the Armani tie hanging out the side of the bag caught his eye. Edison jerked it out of his bag, scowling down at it like it had done something to him personally. He freaking hated it now. It was the ugliest darn tie in existence. Edison gripped the soft fabric in his hands, wanting to rip it to shreds. His eyes widened. Shred… good idea.
Edison got up and swayed on his feet, having to brace himself on the back of the couch to clear the dizzy spell. He shook his head, his limbs feeling heavy as he trudged towards his desk on the short wall in the living room. It wasn’t anything close to his executive desk in his office, it was just a corner unit to store his few reference books, office supplies, printer, and his one desktop computer he never used. He always sat at his dining table and worked on his laptop so he could look outside, but his shredder was underneath the desk. He sat in the chair and turned on the machine. Before he began to feed the wide end inside, a thought popped into his fuzzy mind, and he hoped it was a good one. But if it wasn’t, he guessed he’d learn in the morning.
Chapter Forty-Two
Bishop
“If you were gonna be this distracted lil homie, then you should’ve just answered one of his calls,” Mike grumbled from beside him. His dad had been giving him another laptop lesson, and discussion on the wonders of modern technology, but Bishop’s mind kept drifting. Not to mention he hadn’t stopped drinking since he finished his crappy dinner of over-cooked chicken wings and mushy Kraft Macaroni n’ Cheese.
Bishop downed the rest of his fourth beer then stood to get another when a heavy palm cupped his shoulder. He grunted as his dad slammed him back into his chair.
“That’s enough,” Mike growled. “Are you gonna drown in those fuckin bottles or are you gonna man-the-fuck up and call him back?”
Bishop dropped his head into his hands. Each time his phone had vibrated on the table had felt like a bullet to his heart. He could only imagine how Edison was feeling, since he had to know that Bishop was ignoring him on purpose. But it didn’t stop his Eddie from trying repeatedly. Bishop just hadn’t known what to say. He picked up his cell phone, wanting to go in the bathroom and listen to that voicemail again, but he knew it’d cut just as deep as when he’d listened the first time.
“I thought you said he was different,” Mike said, closing the laptop.
“He is,” Bishop snapped.
“Then why was he letting that other guy touch him?” Mike cocked his head to the side, challenging him.
Bishop clenched his jaw. “He didn’t… because he…”
“Because Edison’s not the freshest cigarette in the pack, that’s why. That Sky-bitch fooled both of them.”
“Shut-up, Trent! Before I come in there and head-butt the shit out of you.” Bishop barked at Trent where he was reclining in the chair in the living room with the PlayStation controller in his hands.