Jinxed: A Paranormal Why Choose Standalone
Jinxed: Chapter 17

To me, the most terrifying idea in the entire world was being sober. Being sober in general was horrible. Being sober while being trapped in a cursed house with only my thoughts was downright horrifying.

Unfortunately, it was looking more and more like a reality. When I first arrived in the house, I had stretched my stash of weed as far as it would go, desperate to cling to the smallest of highs. I tore through my backpack when it ran out, sobbing as I tossed empty prescription bottle after empty bottle, knowing I had gone through my supply of pills before I had even entered the house. There had to be bleach or some other kind of household cleaner somewhere in the house. Huffing it would probably kill me, but at least I’d die high.

I soon decided against it, not knowing how said cleaner would kill me. There were pleasant deaths and not so pleasant deaths, and I didn’t want to go out begging for mercy.

I knew Felix and Luther thought I was going through withdrawal when I spent days in the bathroom, throwing up and shaking. But it was less a detox of my body, and more of a detox of my mind–knowing I was going to have to return to sobriety. The thought made me physically ill.

The first few days after that were rough. I was in a terrible mood, and avoided them both at all costs. I was angry and miserable, craving an escape I knew I couldn’t have. During my explorations of new hiding places, I discovered the stash of canned fruit.

I had made toilet wine before–hooch, to the posh–as a dare when I was a teenager. We heard rumors it would make you go blind, and being the stupid kids we were, we wanted to see how true it was.

It was a simple enough process. So I collected bits and pieces, creating my distillery in the basement. First you made your must, a mixture of pulped up fruit or whatever else you could replace. Luckily, Felix had plenty of canned fruit. He also had lots of the other important ingredient, yeast. Put the two of those together in some glass jars where the yeast can ferment the fruit, and wham bam thank you ma’am, you have hooch. Just don’t ask me to explain the science behind it. I didn’t realize I had to add sugar to make it more palatable, but I didn’t care much at first. All I knew was it got me drunk.

My setup had served me well for nearly two decades. But my high was about to come to a complete stop, because my stash of fruit was nearly gone. I counted the jars of preserves, knowing I had barely enough for another week, maybe two if I stretched it. And this time, I had more than just my high to lose. Would Savannah still love me if I wasn’t the easy-going, loveable dude she had come to know me as?

We hadn’t said I love you yet, but who were we kidding? It was only a matter of time. But she loved the me she thought I was. Happy. Unbothered. Easy. Just like everyone else had before the house. They never loved the real me. The unlucky Theo. They only wanted a piece of the lucky Theo, the one who passed out hooch before home room, and never turned down a dare.

I counted my jars again, praying for another one to miraculously appear. A ridiculous idea, really. Curses were the only thing that happened out of thin air. Blessings you had to work for.

I stretched my last few jars as far as I could, thinning down the hooch until it was more water than alcohol. It was enough to keep me going. But the day still came, the day of the first snowfall of the season. I ran my tongue around my mason jar, desperately trying to lick up any remaining high I could. But it was useless. It was gone. Dried up, like my hope, my good luck, and any chance I had with Savannah. The pain of reality was already stalking me, taking over control of my body now that the alcohol was no longer king.

“For fuck’s sake,” I cursed, kicking over the dining room chair that held my small workshop. The leg was ancient, and shattered beneath my foot, splinters spraying every which way. The bowls and cups that served as my distillery fell to the floor, smashing on impact. “Fuck it all. Fuck this fucking shit. Fuck!”

I slammed my fist into the concrete wall, and swore as nothing but a bit of dust crumbled away. My knuckles swelled immediately, blood dripping from the torn skin. I hated this house. I hated everything in it.

I licked the blood off, cradled my injured hand to my chest and trudged up the stairs. Thankfully, I had come down to the basement early. Nobody witnessed my meltdown and I was able to escape to my room with no interventions, or questions about what had happened to my hand.

I lay on my bed, staring up at the textured ceiling. This was it then. This was the beginning of the end.

I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or rage. Sleeping was also a good option. Destroying everything in my room was tempting, but not as easy to hide if Savannah showed up. I didn’t want her to see my downfall. She didn’t deserve the trauma.

Savannah was the first good thing to come into my life since before my parents had died. The first pure good thing. Because her goodness was real, and it made me want to be good, too–a lost fucking cause now. She smiled at me like I was the only person who mattered on this planet, even if the room was filled with other people. Even though she fucked like nobody I had ever met before. If I could spend the rest of my life making Savannah moan and come, I’d die a happy man.

In spite of everything, Savannah never gave up hope. Not even when the situation looked impossible to overcome, dark in all aspects. We had spent how long in this house with no way out, and had long given up the chance of escape. But not Savannah. That woman spent every waking moment pouring over Felix’s old books, searching for something to help us. When Felix tried to talk her out of it, she would merely snap at him and leave the room.

“Theo?” Savannah poked her head into my room. I thanked my lucky stars I wasn’t in the process of throwing up, or destroying every piece of furniture in sight. She looked beautiful today, her hair piled up on top of her head, wearing an outfit she had fashioned out of the old dress Felix had given her. It felt like a lifetime ago. “Who are you talking to?”

Shit. I hadn’t realized I was talking out loud. “No one, sweet girl. Just thinking to myself.” I waved her off and gave her a smile. “Go back to your work with Luther.”

She frowned. I hated it when she frowned. A girl as beautiful as Savannah deserved to smile every second of her entire life. I especially didn’t like it when she frowned at me. “Theo. What the fuck did you do to your hand?”

Double shit. “I, um. Well you see. I…”

My stomach was already churning, rejecting the absence of liquor, and my brain felt like mush. I couldn’t even come up with a halfway decent lie before Savannah flew across the room, taking my bloody knuckle into her hand. “What the hell?”

I sighed. Might as well come out with the truth before she realized it for herself. “I ran out of hooch this morning. I got a little…angry.”

“A little?” Savannah raised her brow at me, reaching for one of the towels I’d tossed on the floor. She tore it into strips. “That looks more than a little angry.”

“I destroyed my setup, but it didn’t feel like enough. So I punched the wall.” I wasn’t sure why I was being so honest with her, except she had never been anything except honest with me. Did it still scare me? Absolutely. But I was more afraid of losing Savannah than anything else in my little world.

She turned around from my dresser, where she had been pouring water on the makeshift bandage. “The cement wall? Theo, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.”

She sat back down next to me, reaching for my injured hand again. “Are you in withdrawal right now?”

I flinched as she touched the cool rag to my knuckles, relaxing once I realized she had a gentle touch. “Not yet. There’s still a bit of alcohol in my system, I think. But it’s coming.” I chewed on my lips, unsure how to broach the next thing. “It won’t be the first time I’ve gone through withdrawal.”

“From alcohol?” She was done removing the excess blood off my flayed skin, so she started wrapping the clean towel strip around my hand. There was still no judgment in her voice. We could’ve been discussing the weather, our favorite color, or any number of things. Not my alcohol addiction.

I shook my head. “No. Never alcohol.”

Savannah gave me a bemused smile. “You’re in for a treat then. My dad detoxed off alcohol when I was 12. I still remember it to this day. It was not pretty.”

“You’re…you’re not disgusted by me?” I pulled slightly away from her, even though I wanted to keep touching her. Her hand was soothing to my battered soul, reassuring me everything would be okay, even when it wasn’t.

“Why would I be?” She gave my hip a shove, climbing onto the bed the rest of the way. “Scooch over.”

I slid across the bed, making room for her, and she lay down on her side next to me. Not for the first time, I realized she was the most beautiful woman alive, and I was the luckiest man considering she was here in my bed. “Because I’m an addict who can’t remember the last time I was sober. And I’m about to go through an absolutely disgusting withdrawal.”

“Oh, Theo.” She sighed. “We all have flaws. Some of us wear them on our heart, and some of us wear them on our skin.”

In that moment, I fell completely and utterly in love with her. I would’ve leaned forward to tell her so, and kiss her like I had never kissed her before, if a wave of nausea hadn’t overpowered me. “I’m going to be sick.” I slapped my hand over my mouth, and Savannah leapt out of bed.

“Hold on, let me replace a bucket!” She grabbed the metal basin I used for dirty clothes, and stuck it in front of my face.

I heaved until there was nothing left in my stomach–not that there had been much to start with. The nice thing about not eating was how quickly I got drunk. The bad thing about not eating was going to be the lack of toast. I could really go for a piece of toast right now. Savannah sat on the edge of the bed next to me, rubbing my back and pushing my hair away from my face. The last time someone had taken such good care of me, I was a child, being cared for by my mom. I didn’t realize until now how much I’d hated taking care of myself for so long.

“I’m so sorry,” I muttered, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I felt shaky and sweaty, and ready to take a year-long nap. I also knew this was only the beginning. “This isn’t something you need to see.”

She rolled her eyes, taking the disgusting bucket away from me, and handing me a wet towel in its place. “Don’t apologize. This is what you do for the people you love.”

We both froze, her clutching the basin, and me with the cloth halfway to my face. “You love me?”

Savannah’s freckled face flushed with the sweetest blush I had ever seen. “This isn’t really the time for heavy things, is it?”

Without another word, she walked out the door. I lay on the bed, the cool cloth covering my eyes and as much as I felt like death, I didn’t wish for it. Because Savannah loved me, unlucky Theo. She had told me as much right after she watched me throw up.

Footsteps roused me moments later, and I whipped off the washcloth to see a still sheepish Savannah, carrying a clean bucket.

“Come here,” I demanded, holding out my hand.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ll just give you your bucket and go. I’ll check in on you though.”

“I am about to feel like I’m dying for God knows how long. Please do this one thing for me, and come hold my hand.” I attempted to smile, but my face felt too weak to move correctly.

All the same, she came over, rolling her eyes. “You’re going through withdrawal, Theo. It’s not exactly like you have an incurable illness.”

I ignored her, holding her hand and looking up into eyes I could stare at for the rest of my life. “I love you, too,” I murmured.

Her cheeks went red again, and she covered her face with her free hand. “God, I am such an idiot. It just slipped out. I have the worst fucking timing.”

“Stop.” I pulled her hand away from her face, forcing her to look at me. “You told me when I needed to hear it most. It was perfect timing.”

“Really?” she asked, a small smile curving her lips.

I nodded. “Absolutely. Now say it again.”

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too. Always and forever.” I squeezed her hand tightly. “Now hand me the goddamn bucket. I’m going to be sick again.”

Savannah didn’t leave my side for a week. She was next to me the entire time I shook and trembled, when I cried for my parents, and when I soaked the bed with sweat. She didn’t leave when I cursed the house, cursed her, cursed everything that had led to my being in that bed, getting sober. Every night she slept next to me, whispering words of encouragement into my ear. Every day she wet cool cloths and rested them on my head, and when things got really bad, she held me close and told me she loved me. I clung to those moments for all they were worth, small moments of absolute joy amongst the pain.

Somehow the worst week of my life also turned out to be the best.