13
Mum’s texted me three times already. She’s asked me if I’d pop ‘round the house in the morning. Dad must be still breathing. She’d be straight here if anything had happened. Mum just wants the blood. I’m still unsure whether or not to tell her that I have it. And now is not the time to bug me about anything. I’ve got enough on my plate.
It’s past eight and Thea still hasn’t come out of her room. She’s obviously stewing in there, thinking of ways to murder me. Christ, I bet she’s got my face on a dartboard.
I imagine her sitting on her windowsill, puffing on a joint, or sniffing lines of coke off her desk. The thought makes my chest ache.
I can’t go through all that again.
Swallowing the last from my wine glass, I think about going upstairs, ransacking her bedroom for drugs. But I d
