"What is this Meg twenty fucking questions?" Mark asked throwing his hands in the air. "Christ my job and my alleged friends are none of your business. Do I ask you about how you paint or who you hang with?"

"Then answer one of them Mark. What the hell happened with Dad? That one is my business because it's about me."

"Everything is about you Meg," Mark said reaching for the bottle again. "Even if it's not you have a habit of making it that way."

"Enough!" I said, and leaning forward snatched the bottle from his hand and pulled it towards me.

"Let that go!" Mark snapped, his hand...