'Cause I try, and I try, and I try, and I try

 "Oh, Amber!" That was about all Roxanne's friend from P.A. would let her squeeze in as she was crying at the moment about her mother and how they'd gotten into a fight over the past again.

Rox couldn't catch a break. Really, she just couldn't listen. She held her phone away from her face. She left it on the coffee table as she listened to Amber blubber and cuss about the mom who was mental but she had to love her. She had to.

It was either listening to this or the silence. Pan definitely knew the art of it. But he walked in with a bag of cigarettes and of course, his Canadian Mist. He looked at her without expression, or maybe a look, "What in the hell are you doing, just hang up." Well, she imagined he could have said it, but he didn't. Instead, he pressed, one sneaker off and then the other at the door and slipped on his squishy spongey slippers (that she'd gotten him at 5 Below and as of yet had not thanked her, but used them everyday). He went on to his computer space with the cigarettes and came back to the kitchen to check for ice in the freezer. Naturally, he gave her another leer of a look as if she was supposed to keep up with the ice making, but she didn't. 

Really, Rox didn't care anymore. She was getting fierce by the second. He went on to make him a drink with a cube of ice in his favorite cup (another thing she got him at 5 Below, hell maybe she could work there, she thought). She sighed and looked at the phone. Yes, Amber was just repeating herself about her mother and how she blamed her for everything.

Rox remained straight-lipped. Pan was drinking the drink with diet Coke now. She clicked off the phone.

"Why in the hell do you talk to her anyway?" Pan finally growled. He kept staring her down as if no way could she win this contest.

"Because! Why not." Rox jerked herself up and got right in his space and then in his face as she danced about him. "You won't talk to me!" Oh, she was sour. She took the whiskey on the counter and drank from the bottle as if it was not his alone. She was tired of him not sharing.

He looked at her and festered a frown as if she'd lost it, but he took a long drink of his drink and she took another gulp of whiskey. Sure it burned, but it really wasn't the good stuff. She could tolerate it. It was cheap and didn't taste like industrial vodka. It was tangy and oddly sweet. Yeah, it was something her grandpa kept in his cabinet in the garage. She'd drunk it many times, but it was a secret she knew Pan could care less about. He'd never know she'd been drinking since she was six. Her grandfather liked to play a game with her and somehow she always felt she could win. She'd made a lot of money back then with that old fool.

"What?" She burst into laughter. She'd just about down half the bottle.

"Give me that," he ordered, but she wouldn't.

"You don't want to be friends with me anymore." She pouted. Obviously, she could be funny and serious at the same time. "This is your only friend, isn't it?" She batted her eyelashes as she kept the bottle close to her.

Oh, he was seething. Many might not know it. But she did. Yes, she knew that cool look of his. She couldn't help but laugh at him.

"WHAT THE HELL DID I DO!" She shouted like thunder as if it might be a climax of some kind. She breathed in and breathed out as if she was getting ready for something.

Pan sighed. He tried to get the bottle away from her, but she turned just in time from him. Oh, she felt so light on her feet. She would not give it back. She was enjoying this, wasn't she? Of course, she was jumping from the kitchen to the living room. A part of her felt they were separate spaces, but really, it was just one room. Their room. And it felt like it was their prison.

She didn't want to think about that. She felt as if he was keeping her hostage. She didn't like it. No, this time she felt like punching him. And she did. And he was out cold.