I was right! I fucking knew it.
Only thing is, who's gonna believe me now? I'm drunk and Alex isn't going to give a fuck, especially after I punched him. Oh god, I punched him. I seem to be a lot more violent than usual recently.
And I asked Hadley out. Has my brain fallen out or something? I was going to wait til we were at least in the same room. Did he think I didn't mean it? I mean, he knows I'm drunk.
Fuck's sake, Max, you said you were going to call the cops, so do it.
But I change my mind. I get as far as "Police, how can I help?"
In fact I started to say "my boyfriend's been kidnapped" before I hang up. Well that won't worry them at all. Fuck what Alex thinks, I need the car. I'll go over there myself if I fucking have to.
So what do I do? I drink a fuck load of coffee and water in an effort to sober up, and call Alex.
"I need my car," I tell him and hang up as he starts to protest. Ten minutes later, he's here in the car, like I knew he would be. I stumble over to the car and Alex takes one look at me before refusing to let me drive.
"No," he says firmly.
"Alex, just lemme-"
"No." I open my mouth to protest again. "No." I scowl and plop into the passenger seat, crossing my arms and glaring out of the window like a little kid. "Where d'you even want to go?"
"None of your business, asshole." He nods to himself and concentrates on driving. And then I realise he'll just be driving aimlessly. "You might as well take me to the motel," I grumble, receiving another nod.
Apparently water and coffee didn't sober me up quite as much as I'd hoped, and something about Hadley or John must have slipped out, because the next thing I know, Alex is moaning at me about how I'm being ridiculous.
"No, I was on the phone to Hadley," I burble, "and John was there. I swear, he was there, Lex." He gives me this look like I'm some crazy that's just escaped from the loony bin and I sniffle, feeling myself tear up a bit. "I'm such an idiot." He shoots me a questioning look and I run a hand through my hair, trying not to hit my head on the window or break down. With a sigh, he leans over and gives me that hug I've needed all night.
I hug back and we stay like that for maybe five minutes while I try not to cry and he tries not to berate me for my craziness. Well, what he thinks is craziness. But I know that John's got him. After I pull away, he asks me if I'm okay and I nod, pulling my knees up to my chest. "C'mon, let's get you back to the motel."
I lie on the bed for about ten minutes, hoping Hadley's okay , wondering where I can get a gun from, and if I can walk straight yet.
I figure I won't need a gun, that no one will care if I walk in a slightly wobbly line and that Hadley probably isn't okay.
Hauling myself up, I sneak away from the motel, making surprisingly short work of the walk between John's place and the motel. I go up to John's door, with absolutely no plan at all, and knock. There's no answer, so I try again, frowning slightly to myself. There's still no answer, and my frown deepens. I consider checking for any open windows, but I can't say I've ever broken into anyone's house before. I'd fuck it up, trying to climb through a window.
And then I remember the habit that the Smiths seem to have of leaving the door unlocked, and wonder if John's as careless.
I bite my lip, hesitating. Before realising I can't fucking chicken out now, and grabbing the handle and giving it a go.
Apparently, John's not worried about burglars. Because the door opens without any issues and I step inside. I don't close it, though. That's what they do in horror films, and then they inevitably can't get out again. It pays to be paranoid sometimes.
I wander around for a bit, looking for the door to Norman Bates' basement, hoping I don't run into the creep himself while I'm searching around.
Eventually, I find the trap door in the kitchen.