I'm in love with a Slimeball

I tilt my head back and let the alcohol slither down my throat. It leaves a burning feel behind, but I take the cheap bottle of whiskey and press it to my lips again.

Cars blow gushes of air at me as they pass by. The bright city lights are starting to blur together- it's one of the most beautiful things I have seen in a while. I stumble along the dirty sidewalk in the city. I think a sign said London, but I'm too drunk to be sure. Tourists pass me by and shoot me looks of disgust. I just laugh and keep walking.

I bring the bottle to my lips again, but find it empty. I sigh angrily and toss the bottle into an alley. Defeated, I take a seat against a building. My knees are scrunched close to my chest and I feel dizzy. I lean my head against the building and wait there for a while, trying to grab a hold of myself.

"Patricia?" I hear a voice call my name and I look to see where it came from. I only see a blob of tourists, so I figure that I must be imagining it.

"Patricia!" A voice calls again. I look around and this time I see who the voice belongs to. Jerome Clarke. I see him rushing towards me and he kneels down beside me.

"What are you doing here? We've all been worried sick! Come on, lets go back to the house." He said and tried to make me stand up. I shook him off and stayed put.

"I don't want to be there. I don't want to be around any of you! Just go! I'm fine!" I yelled at the boy who was taken aback.

"No, Patricia. You're definitely not fine. Why are you out here any way? You just ran off!" Jerome asked as he took a seat beside me again.

"You really want to know?" I asked. I knew my words were coming out slurred, but I didn't care at the moment.

"Of course. What's going on?" He asked. For once- Jerome actually sounded like he cared.

"Fine. Here's the story- During dinner I got a phone call. It was my mom. She said that my brother had been killed in a hit and run. He had been on the side of the highway with a friend looking for his phone, when a car came out of nowhere and hit him. He died instantly. So I ran off and found these guys out here, in the city. I took a hit off their weed and had some vodka. Then I took a bottle of whiskey and left. I just ran out a while ago. And now here we are. Happy?" I snapped at him. He just stared at me. "Take a picture- it'll last longer."

"Sorry. It's just...You should have told me instead of running off."

"Why? You wouldn't care. You're Mr. "Too cool to care" Jerome Clarke." I muttered.

"That's not true, Trixie! I would have cared!"

"You've never cared about anything in your life besides Mara!" I yelled at him.

"I'm done with this. Come on, I'm taking you to the hospital." He said and grabbed my arm. I snatched it away and looked at him sternly.

"No. I don't need to go to the hospital."

"Yes! You do! Come on, I know these things!"

"You think you're so smart, Jerome- but you're not! You're not smart enough to see that Mara loves Mick, not you. You're not smart enough to see that she'll never want to be with you! Hell, you're not smart enough to see that I'm freakin' in love with you!" I spat the words at him with venom. I knew that if I was sober I would never say those things. Jerome looked like I had punched him. His eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open.

"I-I-I.." He stammered. "You love me?"

"Yupp. I'm in love with a slimeball. Get over it." I said. He kept staring at me for a moment. Without warning, I felt a pair of warm lips crash into mine.

The end.