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"Summer,"
"What, Morty?" She answered without even looking up from her phone, probably too busy texting that guy she met at the party last night, Morty figured.
He swayed a little unsure how to ask his question, Summer didn't seem to notice though. "W-Why do people drink?"
Summer paused, her brows furrowing slightly as she thought about Morty's question. "What kind of question is that?" She retorted, finally looking up from her phone.
"W-Well, you were drinking a lot last night, and mom and Rick do it all the time..." Morty stammered, looking away as the look Summer was giving him made him feel somewhat embarrassed by his question, like it was stupid to ask, but he continued anyway. "I was j-just wondering... why?"
She paused, staring at Morty a moment with a raised brow before rolling her eyes and answering him. "I guess people do it to escape the problems they face in their lives."
"Problems?"
"Yes, Morty. People have problems, that shouldn't be a surprise to you." She snapped, sounding exasperated with his questions.
Morty looked at his feet, fidgeting with his hands. "What kind of problems?" Despite knowing that his questions were a bit silly he still asked.
"I don't know, Morty," Summer let out a heavy breath. "Mom drinks because she's unhappy with her life and grandpa Rick probably has several reasons to drink... Why do you even care about this so much, Morty?" She stopped to question him, her gaze narrowing on him.
.
.
.
Morty watched as Rick pulled out flask after flask, chugging one after another and simply tossing them like it was nothing.
It's easy to use something up and toss it, everyone does it all the time... shirts that were bought and never worn, weird gadgets from an online trend that eventually became boring, old shoes with holes in them... Morty understood it, he wasn't a stranger to tossing things once he was done with them, if anything, he had been desensitised by Rick, with his pocket world of garbage full of trinkets that he used once and then got bored of. Morty wondered if he could be compared to that... he wondered if the way Rick casually drank flask after flask was the same as the Morty's at the citadel before Evil Morty destroyed the place... Rick's cloned Morty's... just to have a little sidekick, someone who loyal and dumb enough to blindly follow, someone easily replaceable.
He always told himself not to think about that. Rick reassured him about it before. But still... he couldn't help but feel a bit gross, and it must've shown on his face because Rick, still drinking, spoke up.
"Morty, I-I can tell you're disgusted," Rick paused to down another flask, burping as he started again. "But... y-you're going to be JUST like me! It's a disease, Morty."
He frowned, looking away from Rick as he spun around on his chair to look at Morty, waving the empty flask around like evidence.
"A genetic disease!" His voice rose unsteadily as he drunkenly stood up from his chair, wildly articulating with the flask in hand. "It's already in you Morty!"
.
.
.
"I-I was just curious..." He mumbled in response to Summer. "Um,"
Summer raised an eyebrow at him before mumbling looking back at her phone. "Whatever, Morty, leave me alone now."
He didn't need to be told twice by Summer, he quickly turned and left her room and went straight to his own.
For a while, Morty laid in bed, unable to sleep as he just stared up at the ceiling, thinking about what Summer said... about what Rick had said. He had problems, but they weren't as bad as everyone else's, his life was actually good... right? He had no reason to drink, so that must've meant Rick was wrong.
He really hoped Rick was wrong.
"When I found you, you were bait. When I killed that fish, maybe I should've cut the line! Because all I have now is a fucking worm!"
It had been a week since Rick had said that to Morty and the whole incident with the sympathid, but Morty just couldn't forget what Rick said, he just couldn't let it go, it had been weighing him down all week and the more he thought about it the more he thought about everything else too. Rick treated him like a dog, like no matter what he did Morty would just go back to normal and forget about it... but Rick could be mean, especially when he was drunk.
Morty's lost track of all the times Rick has insulted his father and compared him to him.
Pathetic, coward, worm, useless, idiot... all harsh names Rick would throw around before passing out on the floor or in his chair.
And aside from Rick's drunken words, the adventures were also starting to get to Morty. He was exhausted almost every day from being dragged out of bed past midnight just to go on a "quick" adventure where Rick is careless or drunk or just dragging him out to do some stupid grocery run for some alien parts he needs.
Morty was falling asleep in almost every class, he could hardly keep his eyes open.
He felt like he was about to crack under all the stress Rick was putting him through.
His room was nearly pitch black, except for the moonlight shining through his window. He laid on his side, staring out at the starry night, lost in thought when an idea drifted through his head... he thought back about what Summer said, and he began to wonder if maybe... maybe he could find something downstairs to take his mind off of everything, just like his mom and Rick.
Carefully, he slid out of bed and crept downstairs, stepping over the one step that creaks loudly, afraid of getting caught despite knowing nobody would care or even hear him, since Summer sleeps with headphones in most nights and his parents were forced to add soundproofing to their room after space Beth's visit, which led to his dad insisting Rick adds "Soothing ambience" as a feature. Morty was sure that even if someone caught him, they wouldn't really care anyways since it was apparently bound to happen, a genetic curse that neither Morty nor Summer would be able to escape.
He already knew where all the alcohol was kept and the cabinet wasn't locked either. It was easy to climb up the counter and open the cabinet, looking inside at all the various options... He grabbed a bottle of beer and whiskey, then made his way back up to his room.
The bottles felt heavy in his hands as he contemplated putting the back, but inevitably he popped them both open. As he put one bottle down and brought the other up his face he was hit with the nauseating smell of beer, he hadn't even taken a sip yet and he already couldn't handle it. Seriously, how did anyone enjoy drinking this stuff?
He swallowed hard, even more uncertain about what he was doing now, but he quickly got over it and took a big swig of the bottle, forcing himself to swallow. It tasted absolutely disgusting and it made him want to puke... but after a second, a sickening warmth bloomed inside of him only making him want it more. He took another sip, again hit with the same harsh taste that made him gag, and this time he put the bottle down. It was so good and so bad...
Morty hoped the whiskey might have a better taste, so he grabbed it and took a big swig which instantly filled him with regret. It burned every inch of his mouth and he had to force the contents of his stomach to not come up. He hurriedly reached for the beer, practically chugging the rest of the bottle in an attempt to wash down the terrible burn of the whiskey.
Morty groaned letting himself fall off his bed with a heavy thump. His head hurt so bad now and his stomach burned... he felt like shit. He was struggling to understand how other people could drink so much and still seem fine... he didn't think he'd be this much of a lightweight... 'is that the right word?' he wondered, since he had only heard it a few times from Summer and Rick, and maybe his mom, years ago.
"Ughh..." He rolled over on the floor so he could stare out his window, strangely, the view was much nicer when he was looking up from the floor rather than his bed.