Everyone was served their wine rather quickly, but not a single drop spilled. The wine was distributed in small plant pots that were cleaned out in the snow, which, in my opinion, made my stomach churn. Who knows how many bacteria could be inside that snow? After everyone had gotten settled, Ruth raised her drink in a complimentary toast.
"This toast goes out to Bertram, a longstanding ally against the forces of evil, a warrior of the senses, and most precious of all, our friend!"
As the group clashed their beverages and gulped them down, I didn't move a muscle, contemplating what I had heard. My lips parted to speak, but my throat seemed parched and dry—and it wasn't the air in this building or outside.
"B-Bertram? Who's he?" trembling, I asked the question. My gut seemed to swim with the fishes, and my mind was fuzzy along the edges.
At this moment, Ruth looked towards me with a small frown. "A past friend of ours. He was the last member of our group before Damien came to replace him."
She took another sip of her wine and kept speaking. "I have to admit that we weren't the best people outside of this place. We'd always get into all sorts of trouble with our parents and families."
Oscar suddenly burst into laughter, almost falling backwards onto the floor. "Remember that time w-with that bull race in Tizzy, how that damn bloke had snagged one of em' and tried to keep it as a pet?"
Ruth smiled, chuckling softly. "I mean, if he were still with us, he would have set us free while riding the damn thing!"
Everyone in the room seemed to laugh together, except for Damien. The boy remained silent, eating his stew and drinking without saying a word or doing as much as a glance. Daisy looked directly at me, lowering her drink from her lips. Her other hand absentmindedly stirred her stew with a spoon.
"One day after one of our little outings, Bertram was scheduled for one of his fancy parties; he's the son of a rich noble after all. Of course, everything went as planned and that party was held, but when we went to his mothers house to pick him up, we found her crying on her sofa, murmuring something about her son."
Daisy's grip around her beverage tightened, almost as if she might break it. "When we found Betram, the boy was completely different. He didn't blink, he didn't smile; it was like the damn fool had turned into a doll."
She raised her spoon to her mouth, slurping up the frigid stew.
"His mother said she didn't know what happened, and that he had acted in such a way even during the party. The other nobles and barons had held him in high favor for his party-animal-type behavior, believing that even in their solemn lifestyle, there needed to be some sort of light within. And when I tell you, they were more disappointed than worried about him."
Daisy chuckled, attempting to light the mood, only to fail miserably and sulk on her make-shfit chair. For the most part, Oscar and Ruth were silent too. After digesting all of that information, I felt unable to eat. I slowly pushed away the stew and wine. The sound echoed across the table, snagging Ruth's attention.
"Y'gonna eat? Damien didn't steal that stew for nothing."
I shook my head, taking a deep breath. "I'm not undermining his efforts; I'm just not hungry at the moment."
"Really now?" Ruth scoffed, turning away.
"Bertram would've pummeled it down even if he knew there'd be shit and piss inside it."
The girl with blonde hair sipped her drink again, which was now almost completely gone. Her stew had also been washed clean. Ruth pushed away the meal and crossed her arms, abruptly placing her feet on the table like an absentminded crook or main character of a video game.
"Are you sure he's cut for this group?" Ruth turned to Damien, frowning at him.
Damien looked up at her, his expression filled to the brim with uncertainty. His grip around his spoon tightened until his palms were as pale as the snow outside. The dim lantern hanging above the table flickered, creaking as it swung back and forth on its suspended chain that dangled from the ceiling.
His lips spread only a millimeter, and his pure-white eyes darted in my direction. Damien swallowed his Adam's apple and shook his head with a noticeable amount of hesitancy.
"H-he's good...I guess..."
Not even a millisecond after his answer was his head engulfed with his bowl of ice-cold stew, slurping it down like a greedy, underfed child. As I studied the boy, his chest rose and fell with a prominent, almost worrying speed. It was like he was hyperventilating while drinking his stew—trying his hardest to keep his mouth shut.
His throat bobbed, expanded, and contracted as he slurped down the stew, trying to prolong the moment in between having to speak. Ruth looked away from Damien, still smirking.
"Y'hear that, Zach? He says you're good ...he guesses."
I didn't bother to correct her by saying my actual name. My gaze drifted down to my stew, the end of my spoon sitting around the rim of the bowl, threatening to slip and fall into the brownish-yellow liquid with peas and carrots floating within. The air around me grew frigid, not from the air outside or anything within this room.
Oscar continued to down the bowl of stew without saying a word, seemingly oblivious to the comments jabbed in my direction. Daisy, on the other hand, had pushed away her finished stew and finished her drink, now idly sitting around the table beside Ruth. The only other sound aside from Damien's insistent slurping and drinking was the wind howling through the raggedy windows of the building.
"If you want to prove your worth to us..."
Ruth arched an eyebrow as her smirk grew. She reached for the bottle of burning liquor in the middle of the table, pushing it in my direction. The sound echoed across the room, and the bottom of the bottle had been cracked slightly, leaving a circular trail in my direction. The color of the bottle was a dark green with a crimson banner wrapped around the midpoint.
"Katshinease Rum" was imprinted in italic lettering.
"You can have a little drink with us, forget your problems and enjoy the ride."
I watched as Ruth unpopped the cork seal, setting it on the table beside her. She then poured about halfway into the potted plant. My eyes widened slightly as her other hand dove headfirst into the stew, taking out a handful of peas.
"They say it's good luck if you mix your food and drink, and praise Mother Nature."
She leaned back in her barrel chair, sipping her drink heartily. The entire time, her gaze remained fixed on me.
"C'mon Zachey-boy, drink up." Ruth abruptly snapped her fingers.
"Yeah, live a little!" Oscar lowered his drink and smiled at me.
At this point everyone at the table, including Damien, was looking at me. Their eyes were filled to the brim with anticipation and clustered excitement at what was about to occur. I remained deathly silent, my gaze fixed on the glass of liquor in front of me. The peas at the top gently rocked back and forth, colliding with each other and parting separate ways.
Ruth grabbed the potted plant and shook it in my face, her smirk now having transformed into a grin.
"What are you, possessed? Drink y'big fool!"
At this moment, I breath hitched in my chest as my mind flickered elsewhere. The countless number of nights I had heard my father puke his guts out on the other end of the bathroom door, how he had acted like a rampant beast when he drank too much. I've always hid in my room or went to the park after he drank, hoping by the time I came back he was either slumped in the recliner or asleep on the floor.
This was the same breed of monster who had beaten my mother, purposely missed his taxes, barely got us by, and went out with his friends into the late hours of the night, only to come back home stumbling and falling onto the rug. It was misery in a bottle, a bottle that had now been shoved into my face, silently threatening me with failure and mockery if I didn't dare comply with its doing.
"I don't want to..." My voice came out barely above a whisper, a slight tremble that only brushed the dusty air of the building.
"Really now? What are you, a damn loser?" Ruth prompted her feet onto the table, huffing again at her cigar.
"Ruth ...stop, please..." Damien's voice was akin to mine, low and barely audible.
"Why? Bertram would've downed that thing without a second thought. Consider yourself lucky we let him in here!"
Ruth blew some more smoke into the air before she kept speaking, her tone a bitter concoction of animosity and wrath. "I don't see why we should allow this pussy-licker into our little group if he doesn't wanna drink with us, wanna hang with us. I forgot he was here to begin with!"
Hearing her words, my hands began to tremble, wrapping around the edges of the table with an iron-grip. The veins in my forehead bulged, and my eyes felt like they might bulge out of their head.
"Yeah, yeah ...she's correct, dumpster-boy." My father spat in my ear, his demonic visage blurry in the corner of my eyes.
Without saying anything else, the warm, salty tears began to pour from my eyes. My throat tightened so much I couldn't breathe, but my breath still sputtered and gasped as I feebly attempted to hold back my tears. The redness in my face caught everyone off guard, Ruth arching an eyebrow.
"Go, run away, y'damn fool." His voice sounded again, the words bitter to my skin like acid.
I shot up from my chair, darting to the door with a tear-stricken face. I kicked open the door, striding out into the snow.
"Damn it!" Damien grunted, his teeth clenched as he bolted from his chair and approached me.
"I-Isaac, Ruth doesn't mean it!—"
The next thing I did was something I'd regret for the rest of my life. My body bolted around quicker than I could realize, and my fist assaulted Damien's cheek. The impact sent the boy to the ground, landing in the bitterly cold snow. His hand darted to the crimson handprint on his cheek that faded away, the corners of his eyes glistening softly in the now dim lighting.
"W-why did you..." He couldn't finish the sentence, looking up at me with wide eyes and a trembling lip.
I could've swore I passed out while standing, because I felt so lightheaded I'd slump forward and collapse to the floor. My gaze froze on my hands, the callaused, cracked skin carrying an injury I never knew I'd enact. Damien's form remained lodged in the snow like a mental imprint, punching me so hard in the gut the air left my lungs at a scary rate.
More sputtered, strangled sobs left my throat as I felt a hand on my shoulder, an ashen-gray, demonic hand adorned with long, dirty fingertips and fibrous, pulsing, ink-black veins.
"Wow, I'm honestly shocked, dumpster-boy. I'd have to say, he reminds me a lot of how you looked at me that night."
Just then I broke down, now full-on sobbing as I ran back to the medical facility, covering my crimson face and tear-stricken cheeks. What the hell had I done?