No longer cool, but a boy in a stitch
Unprepared for a life full of lies and failing relationships
-Sic Transit Gloria...Glory Fades, Brand New

x.

I was sitting on a beat-up sofa in the basement of Wendy's house. Some mind-numbing Taylor Swift song was blasting from upstairs making the red plastic cup of beer I'd sat on the table next to me shake. Ethan had driven us over but fifteen minutes into the party, he and Wendy had headed up to her bedroom. Henrietta, Damien, and Firkle had disappeared into the crowd soon afterwards. The house was packed with every kid in town who was home from college. Everyone was talking too loud over the music, reliving high school memories that meant nothing at the time. It was shocking to me that Wendy had so many friends. I guess no one cares who is throwing a party - the overall lack of things to do in South Park was reason enough to show up.

The basement was a refuge for stoners and introverts who wanted to escape the oppression of the conversation and dancing upstairs. Kids were passing around a joint and watching one another play Grand Theft Auto. I took a drag and glanced at my phone. It was only ten-thirty, but I felt like I'd probably meant the obligation of being here by now. I thought, not for the first time, how much easier life was when I had classes and homework to focus on. Even though it was a Saturday night, I could always go to the radio station on campus. I had a key to it anyway - and my ID card would let me into the building. I could open any new music that'd come in and start labeling things, get a jump-start on the new rotation for next semester. Anything to stop feeling like I was the background character in everyone else's life, an extra to fill the scene.

I headed upstairs, glad to shake off the smoke of the basement. As I worked my way through the crowd a hand snaked around my wrist. I glanced up - Mike Makowski was leering at me, his pupils blown open with whatever drugs were being passed around up here.

"Follow me," he whispered in my ear before letting go of me. I cast one last futile glance around the crowd for any familiar face before following behind him up the stairs. He opened the door to the bathroom attached to Wendy's parent's room. It seemed like the safe bet to me, from up here I could barely hear the squeals of laughter from downstairs. I shut the door behind me and leaned back against it.

Mike was perched on the counter-top, a silver flask at his lips. His skinny jeans were rolled into neat cuffs over the tops of his Doc Martins. He was twisted around to fix his hair in the mirror behind him. His hair was pulled into a high bun but pieces had come loose over the course of the night.

"I didn't know you'd be here," I mumbled, breaking the silence. "But I'm not really interested in a tryst next to Wendy's mom's snowmen hand towels."

He rolled his eyes before sliding off the counter and walking over to me. He pressed me flat into the door, his hips locked against mine. "You need to relax Peter - you're always so tense." His breath was hot against my face, and I could smell the alcohol coming off of him.

He pressed the flask to my lips, I gripped it and took a sip. I gagged at the taste and held it away from my face, my own reflection warped in the shiny silver. "Vodka?"

"Mhm," Mike said, his tongue working its way up my ear lobe. I stared at the stupid blue wicker trash can under the lace curtains across the room from us.

"We shouldn't do this here," I said as his hand slipped under my shirt and slid up my chest. A candle with a film of dust on it sat on the back of the toilet. I closed my eyes and tried to stop thinking about the noise downstairs, the headache I felt like I'd had for days, the fact that it was Mike that was touching me - the only one who had ever fucking wanted to. Thankfully, the burn of alcohol was making it all feel less bad than it should.

"Relax," he whispered, his voice wet and throaty against my ear. He pressed harder into me. "We should get to have a good time too, you know?" He pulled back the collar of my shirt and licked along my Adam's apple as I took a long swig of the vodka. I could smell the pot smoke from downstairs in his hair - his pale blue eyes looking up at me.

"Fine." I pulled his chin up and kissed him hard on the lips. He shoved his tongue between my lips and pulled me further into the bathroom with him - both of us kissing one another hard and desperately until I finally hit the tiled wall by the shower. His hands were on either side of me as I thrust against him through my jeans.

He groaned and pulled me close, his hot breath against my ear, "Good because I want those lips around my cock."

I reached for his belt and started undoing it, his breathing growing heavier as I worked open the buttons of his pants.

I heard the music from downstairs clearer for a moment and realized it was because the bathroom door had been opened. Katie was standing in the doorway, her hand thrown over her mouth. Mike glanced down at me, confused as to why I'd stopped.

"Mike!" She yelled, making him turn around. I could feel his whole body tense against me. He sucked in a sharp breath like he'd been punched.

"It's not - "

She looked at me with a mask of pure disgust before turning on her heel and rushing back down the hall. My hands fell to my sides, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" He glanced over me with a look of disappointment on his face, his eyes resting on my bottom lip, swollen from where he'd bitten down.

But ultimately he looked back at the doorway, some impossible internal struggle running through his head before he sighed and took off after her. It's not like I wanted or expected anything more from him - but it still hurt, all of it.

I sagged against the wall, like the wind had been knocked out of me. I wiped my wet mouth on the back of my palm because I didn't know what else to do. Everything felt magnified now - the stupid Christmas decorations, the smell of sweat in the air, the taste of Mike on my lips.

I made eye contact with my reflection in the mirror behind the counter. My cheeks were flushed red, my shirt shoved up, and my hair sticking out from where his fingers had held me. I tried to separate the red and black like it was supposed to be, but it was useless. The eyeliner I'd smudged on before we left the apartment made my green eyes look huge and lost and I felt like I couldn't keep looking into them. I knew that there was some part inside me still that I was letting down. And that same part of me broke a little more each time I kissed him.

I picked up the silver flask Mike had left behind and slammed it against the granite countertop. And when it didn't dent or break I slammed it again and again until the flask had fallen to the floor and I was just hitting my hand until it hurt too bad to keep going. I grasp my injured fist with my left hand and took a deep breath, feeling like the walls of the bathroom were closing in.

I wanted to know what was wrong with me. How had I become this person - this worthless, disposable person? I picked the flask off the floor and finished off what was inside in one long gulp. It made me feel better - warmer and lighter. I wanted to drink until I couldn't feel at all. I walked back down the steps, almost expecting everyone to turn their heads, to know what had happened. But no one noticed me pass by; I kept my head down anyway and shoved my way through the crowd.

In the kitchen a bottle of rum sat unattended and I poured myself a drink - adding just enough soda to make it palatable. I didn't feel like leaving the party anymore. In fact, I almost hoped it'd never end - that maybe I could live in this haze of drunken ambivalence for the rest of my life.

In the basement some of the old Vamp kids were playing video games. I sat on the floor absentmindedly watching them play until one of them offered me a controller. I don't even think they knew my name. These were people I'd gone to school with for twelve years who still called me "that one goth kid." Eventually most people started leaving, and the music had been turned off upstairs. There were a couple kids around me passed out on the sofa.

I tried pushing myself off the ground, but only succeeded in falling back on my hands. The room was spinning anyway, and I couldn't even focus on the steps, much less walk over to them. I laid back against the floor, bunching up someone's hoodie into a makeshift pillow. I couldn't sleep though - too worried that I was going to choke on my own puke. I thought maybe someone would come find me. I imagined Ethan leaning over me, pushing my hair behind my ear and telling me to keep my eyes open, keep my head propped up, to just breathe. I hovered in and out of consciousness, unsure if the thought was real. I woke up throughout the night, a couple times because someone was talking upstairs and once when someone stepped on my hair trying to walk over me.

When the white light of morning finally started to pierce the small windows by the ceiling, I sat up - weak and sore. My entire body ached and it felt like the dampness of the basement had seeped into my skin. As I walked upstairs I stepped over the various kids still sleeping last night off in various spots, cans of beer littering the ground between them. I headed for the kitchen and poured myself a cup of tap water - trying to shake the dizziness away from my vision. My coat was crumpled over a kitchen chair, and I threw it over my shoulders hoping for warmth - but it was almost like the cold was coming from inside me.

Outside the sun was just coming up over the roofs of the houses. Everything was too bright, the white snow and white cement bled together. As I stumbled passed the driveway I was at least glad to see that Ethan's car was gone.

I had two wet feet by the time I got back to the apartment from trying to unsuccessfully weave my way down the sidewalk. I opened the front door to find Henrietta sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. Her hair was still wet from a shower and she had the blanket from the sofa wrapped over her shoulders.

"Glad you decided to come home," she said, her voice too loud.

"Thanks," I mumbled. The effort to speak at all made me feel nauseous.

"Thanks? Thanks? I've been trying to get ahold of you all night Pete." She picked up her phone for emphasis before placing it back on the kitchen table. "You can't text me back to tell me where you are or tell me if you're okay?"

What was ironic about all of it is that I hadn't texted her back because I hadn't been okay - wasn't okay. I patted my cellphone to make sure it was in my pocket, realizing I hadn't checked it since before the party. "I was at Wendy's house." I couldn't understand why she wouldn't lower her voice, wouldn't stop staring at me like I was the one causing a scene.

"Really, because I didn't see you there - and Firkle didn't see you there. You can't just fucking ignore us-"

"I wasn't."

"Because we really needed you last night. Ethan and Wendy broke up-"

"What?"

"Ethan needed his friends last night - and you couldn't even answer your fucking phone!"

I had to concentrate to take it all in; her anger, the throbbing light pouring in the kitchen window, what she was saying about Ethan. "Where's Ethan now?"

"Oh, you suddenly care?" She sighed and slammed her chair against the table, making the pain in my temples split down my head. "I'm so sick of you being such a shitty friend! Randomly taking off to do god knows what, acting like we're all too stupid to catch on to whatever it is-"

I couldn't focus on what she was saying. The anger was surging through me at the accusation of being called a shitty friend. I was the one who had laid on a basement floor all night, somehow not choking on my own puke while my friends made it home safely.

"I'm a shitty friend? How about you're a shitty friend. How about I slept on the floor of Wendy's fucking basement because you left without me." I took a breath - trying to focus on her as she stood there with her arms crossed. "You don't even know the shit I'm going through, been going through." I could feel my chest rising and falling, "I can't take feeling like this anymore!" I slammed my hand down on the back of the sofa, cringing and choking at the pain - as it was swollen and bruised from the bathroom counter last night.

I turned to look at her but the room was spinning, and I couldn't tell if it was the anger or the alcohol, my words coming out in strangled yells. I turned and went back out the door, running down the steps of the apartment building, and puked on the curb outside. I choked out whatever I'd swallowed last night, before spitting in the snow, wishing there was more. I stood there gasping in the frozen air, trying to get my breath under control.

"I'm fine," I said to myself. I looked down at my creepers - their thick black heels surrounded by pieces of salt - just to have anything to focus on other than the puke or the throbbing pain of my hand.

I had to get some food and get my head together. Everything was okay, I just had to remember that. I walked to Benny's, glad I still had some crumbled up ones in the back pocket of my jeans.

"I'm okay," I said to myself again outside the diner doors. But this time, hearing my own voice sounding so weak and hoarse made me feel even shittier. I could feel tears welling in my eyes and blinked them away as I pulled the door open. A table of old people looked up from their scrambled eggs and stared at the red in my hair with a look of disapproval. Normally it wouldn't faze me but now I swiped my bangs over my eye, wishing I could disappear behind them entirely. I slid into our usual booth across from Firkle. The remainders of toast sat on an otherwise empty plate and a book of Hemingway short stories was open on his lap.

"Hey," he mumbled, dog-earing a page he hadn't looked up from yet.

"Have you ever read Indian Camp?" I tried to say casually.

Firkle's eyes shot up and narrowed. "Jesus Pete, you don't look good."

"I know." I looked down at my chipped black nails poking out of the ends of my hoodie.

"Hey I didn't mean anything - I just..."

He was scooting closer to me, his hand clapped over my shoulder. And I could feel the tears tracing their way down my cheeks.

"What's the matter man?"

"I yelled at Henri and she said I was a shitty friend." It wasn't the main reason I was upset, but it was a reason. Another lie by omission. The thought of lying to Firkle at all made me more upset, and I felt like I couldn't stop crying, like maybe I'd choke on my own breaths. I covered my mouth with my hand trying to stifle the choking noises escaping my lips.

"Hey Pete, come on man, Henrietta isn't going to stay mad at you - you guys argue all the time, just take a breath." I could hear the exasperation in his voice. He slung his arm over my shoulder and pulled me close. "I can call her right now, there's no way she'd want you to be this upset."

"No," I said, shaking my head, making sticky tears pool around my hand. It felt like all the pressure of the last few months was welling up inside of me at once and I couldn't hold it back anymore. I felt so entirely disposable - stagnating in my own world of secrecy. There was nothing Firkle could say to make anything okay and I wanted to tell him that - that it wasn't his fault.

The booth dipped down and two hands were pulling me away from Firkle. Ethan's voice was asking him what had happened while pulling me into his chest. I was aware they were both talking about me but couldn't focus on what they were saying. My cheek was pressed against the cool metal of Ethan's suspenders - pulled over the same striped button-down he'd put on last night before the party.

I felt so stupid but somehow calmer as Ethan rubbed my back in circles and leaning down to softly tell me that everything was okay, his lips moving against my hair. I don't think I've felt so warm in years and I closed my eyes, wishing this moment would last - wishing good things didn't have to come from so much pain. It felt so unfair that I fit against him perfectly like this, and it seemed impossible to me that he couldn't feel it too. I tried to imagine another lifetime where I had been born a girl, where he could love me like he loved Wendy.

My eyes were shut tight but I realized that I wasn't crying anymore. Just taking staggering breaths while my chest shuddered. I knew if I didn't do something I would fall asleep, I was just so exhausted and I could feel his chest vibrate from his voice as he spoke to Firkle above me. But falling asleep would be the final embarrassment, it was already too much to be swaddled like this inside his peacoat, letting him hold me, letting myself want him.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, taking a breath and pushing myself away. For a second I felt his arms stiffen around me like maybe he wasn't going to let me go. I took a shaky breath and looked down at the table, permanently stained with faded coffee rings. "I'm fine - I just - um." I tried to think of a reason that I'd be so upset that would make sense to them. "I just don't like fighting with Henri." I used a napkin to wipe my nose, like that would somehow show them both that I'd completely regained composure.

But neither of them really looked like they were buying it. Ethan was staring at my bruised hand on the table. I shoved it into the pocket of my hoodie wondering if everyone would believe that I honestly didn't remember what had happened to it.

"I can call her?" Firkle offered again, looking at me and then Ethan. I could feel his relief that Ethan was here now to defer judgement to. I was staring at the silver clip in his suspenders I'd just had my cheek against. I was so cold again.

"No, we can talk to her later," he said, waving a hand before picking up a menu. "Let's just get some breakfast, okay?"

"Yeah, it's okay Firkle - I'm just hungover, you know? It just made things seem kind of worse than they are." I said, trying to sound reasonable and composed. It only resulted in them both shooting one another a look.

I took a shaky breath and glanced down at the menu, realizing it was probably best to stop talking for awhile.

"So - Ethan, are you feeling better after last night?" Firkle sounded hesitant, like he shouldn't be changing the topic.

I looked up at Ethan. I'd almost forgotten what Henrietta had said about him and Wendy. It felt less like something that had actually happened and more like something I'd imagined on my walk over to Benny's.

"Wait, what happened?"

Ethan held up his finger, motioned for the waitress to come over, and ordered us both toast, eggs, homefries, and coffee.

"Why don't you take a sip of water first?" He stuck a straw into the clear glass that she had set onto the table. I took a sip and was instantly reminded of the bitter taste in my mouth.

I wondered how much of the argument I'd had with Henrietta he'd overheard and tried to remember what I'd even said. It all felt like a wave of anger and anxiety and then just throbbing pain. I looked outside at the empty parking lot; Ethan's car parked by the front door, a group of old people huddled by the newspaper stand, an empty plastic bag stuck in the snow.

"We don't have to talk about it," Firkle said, probably unnerved by both of our silence, "I know you were up with Henri all night talking about it."

Part of me hated myself for missing whatever was said in the middle of the night, in the middle of everything.

"No, it's fine. I should talk about it." He slid his finger over the silver cross hanging from his ear thoughtfully. "I just don't know where to start." He sighed and took a sip of coffee. "So I tried to give her the necklace at the start of the party when we were alone in her room. She didn't want to really take it out of the box to look at it - which I thought was strange. I tried to explain how it was her birthstone and how I'd gotten our anniversary engraved but she just gave me this look like - like I don't know, like I wasn't being sincere, like it was some joke." His eyebrows pinched together and he sucked his bottom lip in - something he'd done since middle school when he was thinking things through.

I glanced over at Firkle, trying to mirror his expression, because there was some sick part of me that was glad. And I didn't want it to spread across my face.

Ethan took a breath and looked down at his hands. "And she just said that I shouldn't have bought it. She just looked so... apologetic and serious. And then she said that she didn't think we should really be together anymore."

"That doesn't make any sense." Firkle said, throwing a hand up. "Just like that? Do you think there's someone else?"

Ethan was watching as I took another sip of water. "No. Well - I didn't get that impression."

"Maybe she'll change her mind, you know? It had to have put a strain on things being away from one another," Firkle offered. "Once some time goes by, she'll realize what you mean to one another."

He was saying all the right things and I was happy to let him. I peeled the plastic back on a creamer and emptied it into my coffee, watching the white liquid swirl and expand.

"Thanks, but I don't think that's going to happen." He shot Firkle a thin smile. "I mean, I wouldn't have wanted to stay with her if she was unhappy."

"Yeah, of course."

I was thankful when our food came to break up the heaviness of the conversation. I wasn't actually hungry, but knew I had to get myself together.

I could feel Ethan glancing over at me and I tried to shoot him a reassuring smile which I hope both communicated that I was fine and he didn't need to be concerned.

"Hey," Henrietta said, breathlessly sliding into the booth. "Are you okay?" I wondered if Firkle texted her. Her hair was still damp and pulled up into a messy bun.

Yeah, I'm fine ," I said after swallowing my toast. "Sorry I snapped at you - it was just a weird night."

"I'm sorry about what I said Petey," she wrapped an arm around me and pulled me into a hug. "I was worried about you last night. I must have called you like thirty times."

"I guess my phone was dead."

She glanced over at my hand, which I still had stuffed in my hoodie pocket. "And we didn't leave you - I mean, you could have walked home though, right?"

I shrugged. "Yeah of course." Anyone could hear the insincerity in my voice. She shot Ethan a look but no one said anything else about it. Maybe they'd all just accepted that I was a liar.

"I think Pete and I should actually head home," Ethan said, laying down some fives on the table.

"I can come," she offered.

"Just have some breakfast, we'll be okay," Ethan said, his fingers gripping some loose fabric on my hoodie when I stood up, like he was afraid I might need the support. "It's been a long night for all of us."

"Okay cool." Henrietta was watching us, a worried smile split across her face. I'm sure she was just waiting for the chance to tell Firkle what I'd said in the kitchen to her anyway. I wished I could think of some parting thing to say to let them know that I was fine.

"I'm going to go through some of the new music the radio station was sent today - if anyone wants to check it out then," I said.

"Maybe you should just relax Pete," Firkle said - glancing at Ethan.

"Yeah, we will," Ethan said for me before leading me to the door.

I knew I must look like hell at the moment, and it would be hard to come back from everyone witnessing me breakdown like that. Still, I was confident that once I got home, had a shower, and put myself back together I could convince them all that I was fine again.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review and let me know what you think, thanks!