It was the summer before 12th grade and Ellie knew she was hanging out with Craig too much. She was hanging out with him to the exclusion of her other friends like Marco. Marco was her best friend, Craig was just some sick unobtainable love interest who she shouldn't even be interested in.
But she was and most days it filled her with this delusional happiness but not every day. Not today. She was in a bad mood. The house was hot from the moment she woke up. Her mother called her "Eleanor" and there wasn't even any coffee. Not any. In the whole house.
"Bye, mom," she called as she left. She had to buy coffee. A large one. Black, no sugar. The heat annoyed her, the way her leather boots felt against her legs annoyed her. It might be best just to stay home with her bad mood, listen to some angry indie pop and call it a day. But no. She had to see Craig.
Craig wasn't faring much better. Joey lectured him about not helping out enough. Again. Just like he had lectured him about that in ninth grade and it made Craig feel young and angry. And his favorite jeans weren't clean.
"Just wear a different pair," Joey said, and Craig rolled his eyes. Ellie showed up then, knocking at the door, clutching her coffee.
"Hey," she said
They went to the garage, and it was hot and stuffy, the air not moving. Ellie sat on the couch and sipped her coffee that was too hot to drink and she burned her tongue.
"Yeah, my mom forgot to buy coffee, can you believe that?" she said, taking the lid off of the coffee and blowing on it, her breath making little ripples on the smooth black surface.
"Nope," Craig said, and Ellie wrinkled her brow at his odd little tone.
She didn't want to spend the day in this stuffy garage but she didn't want to do anything else, either. She sipped at her coffee, looked at the raw wood of the walls, at the posters of musicians, at the string of Christmas lights.
She felt herself sliding into that mood where she just wanted to verbally attack someone. Wanted to unleash her razor tongue. She felt the sarcasm rising in her blood.
"My mother," she said, and laughed a harsh little laugh, "I guess she's cut down on the drinking but still, she can't even remember coffee? A necessity like that?"
Craig didn't say anything, his look dark. Ellie stared at him for a second.
"What?" she said, and her tone was harsh.
"Nothing," he said, not looking at her, fiddling with the ragged edge of his sleeves. Ellie sat up, set her coffee on the floor beside the couch.
"Don't make me drag it out of you," she said, "what?"
And he looked up at her, his eyes filled with this bitter sadness that it staggered her.
"Okay, well, you still have your mother. You put her down and take her for granted, but she's there. It just pisses me off," he said.
"Jesus, Craig! Your mom was like a saint! My mom's a drunk. She's burned the house down. She made me cut myself. She's made me miserable for years!"
He shrugged, looked away from her. She wanted to shake him, make him see the world of difference between his mom and hers.
"Maybe you're luckier," she said, "you can remember your mom in this perfect little bubble. Not me, boy. I can remember her slapping me across the face after an all day binge. I can remember her totally falling apart when my dad left for that mission,"
"So she drank? She doesn't anymore. So she slapped you? So what? It's nothing compared to what my father did to me," She just stared at him, at his hazel eyes, at his curly hair, the long sleeved shirt. So it was a pissing contest now about who's had it tougher. She'd be damned if she let him win.
"At least you were fucking rich! My dad didn't make squat in the army, and mom? She certainly couldn't hold a job. You know those fancy designer clothes Paige wears? You think I didn't want clothes like that? We couldn't afford anything like that, and even if we could my mom drank it away,"
"You think being rich made up for being beaten all the time? It was beatings, Ellie, not just some slap because he was drunk. And my mother was dead,"
She drank more of her coffee, felt the motionless air effecting her brain. Squinted her eyes at Craig.
"I had to go to therapy. To cope with things I used self-mutilation. And I still do it, once in a while, when the going gets tough,"
"Ellie, you choose to do that. You pick up a razor or a knife or whatever and you do it. Me? I'm bipolar. I'm mentally ill. I didn't choose that,"
She licked her lips, felt herself having a sick kind of fun.
"My dad left for that peace keeping mission and my mother fell apart. She just drank herself right into oblivion. I was scared all the time. Scared that she'd die of alcohol poisoning, scared that she'd hurt me, scared that anything would happen. Everything was dark,"
"Yeah? Try paying such close attention to your father's mood because you know that the day is coming when he's going to lose it over something that you did, whether you meant to do the thing or not it'll still be all your fault because you screw up all the time. Try just waiting for him to lose his patience and start beating the shit out of you,"
"Yeah? Gee, Craig, try coming home from school every day and seeing your mother passed out on the couch with the empty bottles of vodka on the coffee table and the rug, try watching her throw up every night. And every time you try to talk to her she gives you this look like she hates you,"
"Okay, Ellie. Try staying up for days and have your thoughts start racing and have all these ideas going through your mind so fast and everything seems possible, but you feel kind of sick, like you're on one of those rides at some carnival that spins you upside down and to the side and after a while all you can do is just hold on. Then pound the shit out of your step father, the one person who stood up for you and stood by you and went above and beyond any expectations, but what do you do? You beat him up like your father had beaten you, and the thing is you were barely even aware of doing it. When you're finally aware of things because you're all doped up on psych drugs you're in the hospital and everyone is telling you you're crazy,"
Ellie bit her lip, finished up her coffee, put her hands up.
"Okay, Craig. You win. You're more fucked up than me. Happy?"
