Point of View: Zoe
I was pacing by the door, leaning heavy on my crutches, my skin cold, my mind reeling, when Kayla finally pulled into the driveway around 7am. My fear and panic melted away as I saw her climb out of the car and walk shakily toward the front door, like a lamb on it's new legs. I tore the door open just before she stuck her key into the lock. She looked up at me. "Shit," she muttered. "You're up."
"Damn straight," I said, "And you are in deep, young lady."
"I'm not a young lady anymore," she said, the scent of alcohol thick on her breath. She wobbled.
"Why the hell were you driving drunk?" I demanded.
"Because I'm a fuck up and I don't really give a damn." Kayla's voice was hard.
"You don't give a damn if you die and kill someone else in the process?" I demanded, "Like that little puke that killed your mother?"
Kayla glared at me. "Don't bring mumma into this," she said. She pushed by me, headed for the stairs. "I just wanted to make it all go away for a little bit," she said, stumbling up the steps. She tripped halfway up and landed on her stomach. She stared at the steps, her face falling and crumpling, and then, for some reason, she started to sob.
I sighed. "Kay, c'mon. Let's get you laying down." I struggled to move up the stairs, but I only got about two steps up before she shook her head.
"I wanna be alone," she gasped, and she got up and ran to her room.
As she scurried, something fell out of her pocket.
I picked it up and my heart stopped.
It was an open condom packet.
