How goes it? Hope you all have had a lovely week so far. I've got midterms this week so I really should be studying but this sounded so much better...
Thanks for reading/reviewing. :)
It's Tuesday and for some reason the bottle of Chardonnay mom's been keeping in the back of the cereal cabinet looks incredibly appealing. It's been there for years – since before dad moved out. She doesn't drink much and when she does, she has a beer or a wine cooler or something cheap and easy like that while she's locked in her room, working. She keeps the wine for special occasions but she's always at work so none of those ever come around.
If I'm going to develop an alcohol problem I might as well be classy.
I sneak the bottle and a corkscrew into my bedroom with me, not bothering to risk making noise finding a glass. It's nearly two o'clock in the morning and if mom catches me with this, she'll kill me. Not because I'm drinking – she knows I've done it before and could hardly care – but because this is an expensive bottle of wine. She won't notice it's gone, but if she sees me taking it, she won't be happy.
I close my bedroom door behind me quietly, although my mother's room is a floor above me and on the other side of the house, which means that the chances she'll hear me are pretty slim. I set the bottle and the corkscrew on my bed gently and pull a blanket out of my closet. It's freezing in this house. It's always freezing in this house, but mom has a lock on the thermostat and she won't tell me what the code is. She says she doesn't need me messing with the thermostat and running her electricity bill up, but she's not the one who has to freeze in her own home.
I snuggle into the corner of my room, next to my computer desk, and open the bottle, slicing my finger a little when I yank the cork off the corkscrew. I'm a little hesitant to put the bottle to my mouth. I can hardly remember if I even like wine. I don't remember the last time I had any of it but I know from experience it doesn't take much. I actually haven't drank at all in close to a year. I officially quit drinking when I got pregnant, of course, but even after that, I didn't feel the need to do it. I don't even feel the need right now, but I'm going to anyway because I don't know what else to do. I feel bad and I don't want to feel bad. I will tomorrow, but if it will just go away for a couple hours, that'd be nice.
It's probably a bad idea to mix alcohol and the internet, but I take a couple swigs and grab my laptop off the desk anyway. I haven't been on The Slap in a week so I pull up the page. There's a tiny little 3 on the notification bar. The first two status updates I see are both about the twist ending of some new movie, which now is ruined for all of us, thank you very much assholes. I decide I don't care about what anybody on The Slap has to say, so I open another tab and mindlessly swallow some more wine as I open my email inbox. I haven't checked it in a long time – I had it set up on my phone, but it hasn't been notifying me of anything lately. – so I have a lot of emails. The majority of them are spam messages about male enhancement drugs or something else I have absolutely no use for, but the most recent one is from my father. Dad basically only contacts me via email these days. I very rarely reply to any of his messages, which really pisses him off, but if he doesn't want a relationship with his daughter that requires face to face contact, he's not going to have any sort of relationship at all.
I open the email and stare at it for a moment before my brain even recognizes that there are words on the page. A small phrase sticks out before the rest of the email. "That Tori girl." He uses words my brain does not fully comprehend to accuse me of using Tori's death as an excuse for not going to school all last week. I swallow as much wine as I possibly can in one sip.
As if he has any right to accuse me like that. Asifhehasanyrighttotalktomeatall.
I'm so angry right now that I can't even come up with a response. I can't even read the rest of the email. Why do I have to justify grieving anyway? Why do I need to say anything at all to him? Why is he such an asshole?
"Fuck." I hiss when I accidentally knock over the wine bottle on my laptop. Luckily it's now empty enough that only a little of it spills out before I can catch it. There's nothing around me soak it up so I clumsily yank my shirt over my head and dab at my keyboard with it, crying so hard that I can't see whether it's helping or not.
This is why my father and I don't speak in person anymore. One of us always ends up crying, and unfortunately because I never get my way with him, it's always me.
I hate crying.
I hate being so weak.
I hate my father.
I wish Tori was here. I want to call Tori. I want her to come over here and take this bottle from me and make me go to bed and tell me things will be okay so I can yell at her to never make such a stupid promise to me ever again because things will not be okay because I can't do any of this because Tori is fucking dead.
It's been eleven days. Twelve now. Thirteen since I last saw her. Fourteen since we last spoke. Twenty-nine since we last held a legitimate conversation. One hundred and twenty-three since I last considered us friends.
One. Two. Three.
That's a long time.
One hundred twenty-three and I never truly apologized to her.
One hundred twenty-three is a huge number. A massive number. That's a lot of days. That's so much time and so many thoughts and so many chances to make it up to her that I didn't take.
If thoughts were drops of water, I would have had enough in the last twelve days alone to drown the world.
What did I think about for one hundred and twenty-three days?
Why wasn't one of those thoughts the simple little idea to go to her house and knock on her door and wait for her to open it and spit out that dirty little word sorry and then run away as if my life depended on it?
It's been twelve days.
Zero chances.
What do I do now?
I drink. The contents of this bottle are disappearing far too fast. I surely did not drink all of this.
What do I do? I don't know what to do.
Homework. I have homework. I skipped six days of school. I have so much homework.
I have a play to write. I can start with that.
My laptop miraculously still works and my brain is buzzing and there are so many words in my head and I struggle at first to put them in the right order.
All I can hear is blood rushing in my ears and the sound of typing. I type and I type and I type and I don't even know if what I'm writing is English or if it makes sense but I'm drunk already and I don't understand anything so maybe it is alright or maybe it isn't.
One page two pages three pages four pages.
This is supposed to be short but it's not short and it's not done and I'm going to have to exceed the page limit because I just can't end it here.
I don't know what I'm writing.
Are these even words?
I don't care I just want to finish this play and finish everything else and graduate and live in a dark little room by myself for the rest of my life. I just want to go to bed and sleep for months or maybe a year or a decade or two.
I hear the ding of an instant message. I don't hear that sound very often. People tend to be a little too afraid of me to try making conversation.
I take one last drink and set the bottle on the floor before turning to my computer again. It's Beck. Why is he talking to me? I thought I told him to leave me alone.
"Hey, you alright? It's 4 AM." Oh really? Who are you, God of Clocks?
So. You're still awake too dickhead.
"It's raining. Metal roof. Can't sleep." I don't respond to him this time. It's getting really hot in here. My head is spinning. My mind is wandering and I don't like where it's going.
"Jade. Go to bed."
No. Leave me alone. Get out of my life.
"Are you drunk?" How can he tell? How can he always tell?
No.
Yes. Horribly horrendously terribly drunk. But no. I won't admit it to him.
"I'm coming over."
No. Leave me alone.
I close my laptop once again and shut my eyes. He won't actually show up. He's just trying to look like a decent boyfriend.
But I want him to come over. I want him to sneak into my room and sit next to me and not say a word and just hold me. Oh God. Now I want to puke for thinking such a disgusting thought.
I should go to bed. I shouldn't have taken that bottle. I shouldn't still be drinking it. I should put it away and go to bed but I can't and I don't want to but I should I should I should I should I should.
I don't feel better. Why did I do this? I wanted to feel better. I want to feel better. I want to be happy for just once is that so much to ask? What a foolish thing to want, though. When's the last time I was happy? I don't even remember the last time. I don't remember it at all but I'm sure it was because of Tori so it will never happen again and I'm doomed to a life of misery and what a surprise that is.
My brain won't shut up. Ican'tthinkthisfast. Myheadisgoingtoexlpode. Ijustwouldliketodienow. Please.
I close my eyes and I lie flat but I don't fall asleep even though I want to so bad.
"Jade, what are you doing?" Beck's voice sounds funny. He's talking underwater. I can't understand him.
"Jade?" I snap back to reality. He's standing above me, staring down at me with his nose all scrunched up and his eyebrows shoved together and he's squinting like he's looking into the sun. He looks so tall from here. His hair is so shiny and...nice.
"Becky?" A word comes out of my mouth and it sounds like his name but he looks confused.
"Babe, what are you doing?" He asks me, sitting down beside me on the floor. His rough hand slides over mine.
"Trying to sleep." I answer, eyes shut tight.
"On the floor?"
"Is this the floor?"
"Yes it is." He sounds like he's smiling but I can't tell because I can't see him because my eyes are closed.
"Oh." My brain is crawling now.
I
can't
think
fast
enough
to
comprehend
a
single
thing
I'm
doing
saying
feeling.
Beck slips his hand under my back and pulls me into his arms. He starts stroking my hair and even though I would usually hate this it feels good. He smells amazing. I can feel his muscles through his shirt. I can see them almost perfectly in my head. That's an image I have memorized. He's so beautiful.
"Beck?"
"Yes?"
"Do you love me?"
"Of course I do, silly." He taps my nose with his finger. "Why would you ask a question like that?"
"Just making sure." He kisses my forehead but when he pulls back I can feel him breathing on my neck.
"Beck?"
"Hmm?"
"Will you get naked with me?"
He's laughing. What's so funny? That wasn't a joke.
"Not tonight." He finally answers as he stands up.
"Why not?"
"I forgot my naked at home."
"No you didn't." Beck tilts his head to the side and laughs again. Suddenly his hand is in my face and he wants me to take it but I can't quite control my own hand well enough to grab it.
"Come here." He exhales at a terrible volume as he pulls me up off the ground. I push him away and stumble over to my dresser to change even though I'd so much rather lie down on the ground again and just sleep there in yesterday's clothes. I pull on one of the drawers and it feels like I've ripped my whole fingernail off doing this, but it's still there. It hurts though, so I start to cry, and then Beck is there once again, hugging me from behind. He stays there until I start to fall asleep leaning against him, and then he steers me to my bed.
"Sit." He says, like I'm his dog and not his girlfriend.
He opens my top drawer, looking over his shoulder at me with a smirk on his face when he realizes it's the one that holds my underwear. He pulls open the next one and grabs some of my pajamas. They don't even match. Typical boy.
"Arms up." He orders when he meets me at my bed again. I do as he says and just stare straight ahead as he pulls my camisole over my head and replaces it with a t shirt. He redresses me the rest of the way and tucks me into bed like I'm a toddler or incapable of moving my body on my own.
"Uhh, where do you think you're going?" I snap when he turns off the light and grabs the doorknob.
"I'll be right back." I hear the soft clinking sound of my bottle of wine and the squeak of the door as he closes it behind him.
As much as I want to wait for him to come back, I can't, and I start to drift off, only for the door to squeak once again. There's a slight rustling sound as he strips down to his boxers and climbs into my bed with me. He's so much warmer than the four blankets I've piled onto my bed and I curl up next to him, feeling so much more relaxed than that stupid bottle made me feel.
"Goodnight." He whispers. "You'll feel better tomorrow."
He's such a terrible liar.
That sort of hurt me to write... I promise it won't be so Bade-y throughout the whole thing. You know what they say... You've got to brave the Bade to get to the Jori... Well, I say that.
Let me know what you think. :)