Daydrinking

Trent stood there in complete shock as the insanity of the past 10 minutes ran through his mind again. A deep breath to calm himself only brought the lingering scent of his father’s perfume to his nostrils. Annoyance flitted across his brows as he finally began to work his way through the house. Moving automatically to what had been his bedroom before, the door opened into the palace of femininity that Deedee’s closet now was. The pink walls, racks and racks of skimpy, slutty outfits, and an entire wall dedicated to high heels and purses greeted him. It took a moment before the memory of his father’s words kicked in. “Transformed my room into your fucking Barbie dressing room. Fucking hell. As if this shit wasn’t bad enough.”

Turning from his old room, his eyes scanned across the hallway and fell upon the slightly open door of the master bedroom. “Fuck it, take mine, I take yours.” Pushing his way into the bedroom he dropped both of the duffle bags of clothes on the floor before collapsing onto the bed. Even here he couldn’t escape the femininity of the household, the sheets smelled better than his girlfriend’s did. Pulling out his cell, the boy stared at it for a moment before tossing it to the side. He had thought of trying to talk to someone about this, but there was no way he wanted anyone to know anything about it.

Standing up from the bed he began to stalk about the house. At first it was with the intention of trying to figure out what else had changed, but with each change more and more anger began building up. His first instinct was to fall back on his teen years and put holes in walls or somehow deface the house that no longer felt like his home. Holding that as an option for later, Trent finally came upon the bar. With no television in the living room, it would appear that his father had converted it into more of a hosting area. A fully stocked bar sat near a wall, rows and rows of liquor adorned the top of the wooden edifice.

“If any day called for day drinking, it was certainly today.” Reaching over to the first bottle he saw, Trent opened it up and put the opening to his lips. The burning feeling of the whiskey sliding down his throat and into his chest soothed him. Setting the bottle down he looked over at the collection of and smirked. “Fuck it.”