After I Killed Myself, My Hater Brother Cried

Five years after I was kicked out of our family home, my brother, Jerome Lancel, and I crossed paths at a nightclub. He was the high-rolling VIP dropping a million bucks to celebrate his adopted little sister's birthday. I was just a party hostess working the floor to keep the mood going. We didn't exchange a single word the whole night. Not until I chugged two bottles of imported hard liquor straight for a five hundred dollar tip, that is. His lips pressed into a thin, cold line when he saw how deathly pale my face had gone, and he snapped at me, "You'd rather degrade yourself doing this garbage job than come home and apologize? Angel Lancel, you've got some f*****g guts, I'll give you that!" I just smiled like I didn't have a care in the world and held my hand out to him. "Five hundred dollars cash or bank transfer?" Time had smoothed over all the old wounds, and I didn't have any interest in dragging up the past anymore. But that five hundred dollars was exactly what I needed to pay off the final balance for an urn. Dead silence settled over the private room, and every single head turned to stare at me, each face wearing a different expression. Then someone snickered, and the sound cut through the dead silence. Jerome, still lounging on the sofa, went purple in the face instantly. I was embarrassing him. Five hundred dollars wasn't even enough to buy breakfast for people like them. And there I was, swallowing my pride just to chug two bottles of hard liquor for that five hundred. His adopted little sister, Shane Barley, leaned forward with a sneer and opened her mouth, "Jerome has been waiting for you to come home this whole time, and this is what you're doing out here? Doesn't it feel dirty?" I glanced at her and said, "I earn money honestly, out in the open. What's dirty about that? I don't sleep with clients." She snorted in contempt. "You're that desperate for cash? Drink two more bottles, and I'll add another five hundred on top." The second the words left her mouth, the crowd of onlookers started whooping and egging me on. "Go for it! Shane adds five hundred, I'll add five hundred too! I'll match that and throw in another five hundred, make it a thousands total!" I didn't hesitate for a second, just reached out and grabbed another bottle. Suddenly, the private room door slammed open. The manager, who'd heard the commotion, bustled in with his most groveling smile glued to his face. He shoved me roughly out of the way and fawned over my brother, "Mr. Lancel, did one of our girls do something to upset you? Please don't be angry, she doesn't know how to talk right. If that's the case, then..." "You gonna drink for her?" My brother cut him off mid-sentence, voice ice-cold, and his eyes slowly narrowed to slits. Cold sweat beaded instantly on the manager's forehead. He didn't want to stick his neck out for me, but he also didn't want to get dragged into trouble if I drank myself to death. So he forced a weak smile and said, "That's way too much liquor, not even a man could knock all that back, let alone a young girl like her..." "If you're not gonna drink, get the hell out!" Jerome scowled impatiently, pulled fourteen thousand dollars in cash out of his bag, and slammed it right into the manager's chest. "Angel isn't leaving today. If you get in my way one more time, you can kiss this bar goodbye forever!" The manager fumbled to stuff all the cash into his pocket, his face splitting into a greasy grin. He didn't give a damn about me anymore, he just tossed out a thank you and hightailed it out the door. Every pair of eyes locked back onto me again. My brother smirked coldly. "What's wrong? Changed your mind about the money?" I walked over to the table with a completely blank face, grabbed a bottle, and poured the whole thing straight down my throat. But I'd already chugged two bottles before this, and my stomach was already twisting and screaming like someone was stabbing it a thousand times with a knife. That third bottle went down agonizingly slowly, and the whole room erupted in snickers and jeers at my struggle. My brother's face darkened more and more with every second that ticked by. The moment I finished the third bottle and stumbled toward the next bottle on the table, his hand shot out and clamped harshly around my wrist. "Are you trying to kill yourself, Angel!" "I want the money." I wrenched my wrist out of his grip, grabbed the bottle, and tilted it straight into my mouth. I'd already worked out a little trick, actually. The private room was dimly lit. I could just pretend my hand was shaking too hard to hold the bottle steady. No one would notice if a good portion spilled out anyway. But before I could even take that first sip, a brutal open palm slammed straight into my cheek. The slap left me completely stunned, and the bottle slipped from my loosened fingers. It shattered into a thousand shards when it hit the floor. Jerome gritted out, his voice roaring with rage, "You'd throw away all your dignity just for a little cash? How shameless can you get! Stop drinking! Even if you drink yourself to death, I won't give you a single cent!" The alcohol was already flooding my system, and the whole world blurred into a swirling mess of lights and shadows before my eyes. Then that voice, the one I'd buried deep in my heart for five long years, suddenly exploded loud and clear right in my ear, "You sold your own mom's keepsake just for money? Did I ever let you go hungry? Did I not ever give you everything you needed? Why don't you sell yourself while you're at it! "Get out of my house! From today on, I don't have a sister like you!"