“I don’t have a problem.” The words rolled from my tongue, which wasn’t a surprise. I’d used this one sentence so many times, I lost count. Usually, it shut everyone up. Or at least, for a while.
Quinn stared at me, the smoke from her cigarette circling up into the cool air. She looked like she wanted to say a million things, but didn’t.
“I don’t,” I repeated, trying to strengthen my argument. Somehow, it made it weaker and Quinn looked anything but convinced.
Why did it matter what this young woman thought? She’d only just become an adult. What did she know of the hardships of the real world?
So what if I needed a drink every now and then. That was how I kept myself going, how I managed to function in a dysfunctional world. To add to that, there were plenty of things that were so much
