"Free country," the intoxicated man replied, his words slightly slurred. He took a deep gulp from his bottle, draining the contents. Ethan would sit still long enough for her to look, perhaps to bandage it up, but he didn't really care. What was one more scar? He would just add it to the many scars across his body, from the ones that could be seen to the ones that couldn't. He needed more patching like he needed another hole in the head, so to speak, and he certainly did not need or want any friends. It was much easier to suffer in silence and solitude than it was to let another person in again. What good would come of it? Why shouldn't he be an ass to her? It was her family's car that hit him. It was her family that put people out of jobs. What good was a friend in a Montgomery? No, screw her. Let her build herself up to be some humanitarian while she sat and watched her family take away the livelihoods of so many others in the projects.<br/><br/>"You wanna do some good? Get me a pack of smokes. Otherwise, get me a band-aid." Ethan's voice was harsh and raspy, almost like a breathy cough. Drinking always did that to him once he reached a certain point. He didn't mind much, it just made him more off-putting to everyone else. Easier not to make friends that way. The way he lazily flopped his head back and forth gave away plainly his intoxication. Some may have thought it rude to drink to that point in the presence of a lady, but what kind of lady sat by and watched her horrid brother spend people's pensions on loose women and expensive vehicles? She didn't deserve his respect, as far as he was concerned. If she wanted it, she'd have to prove that she was worthy of it, and that would be an uphill battle.