I'm sorry this chapter took me so long to update! I had to work on my English research paper. This chapter probably is going to be a short one; it'll just act as filler, in all honesty. Just trying to get from point A to point B, or point C to point S. Haha. I made a Cam joke!
Inspirations: Only One (Acoustic) - Yellowcard; One Love/People Get Ready - Bob Marley; Trainwreck - Demi Lovato,
Chapter Eight: iShould Not Drink
Walking down eight flights of stairs and stopping on each landing to walk around the floor in the building did not help to calm my nerves. I felt my cell phone vibrating in my pocket and I knew it was Carly sending me frantic text messages, but I just couldn't answer her. She broke my heart into a zillion pieces and she had the gall to want to make sure I was okay? That I wasn't doing something harmful to myself? Psh. Harmful was fucking you in the shower, Carly Shay, even though you led me on and you kissed me and... What am I saying? I don't regret doing anything I've ever done with Carls. This isn't her fault. It's no one's fault. Actually, no: I will blame Freddie to make up for my sadness. Yes. Blame the Benson kid.
Just after I opened the door and started to walk away from Carly's building, a loud roll of thunder filled the sky and a crack of lightening struck against the heavy rain clouds. Almost a moment later, it started to pour rain. I didn't care. Maybe the rain would help me focus a little. Of course, the bus had just left the bus stop as I strolled up. I dug my hands into my jeans pockets and found no change. Looks like I am walking home tonight.
My hair was sopping wet and it stuck to my face. I pulled it up and out of my face, leaning my head back. I was a good two miles or so from my apartment, maybe more than that. But the dark seemed to mask the distance. I'll just have to try and catch another bus towards my apartment. Actually now that I think about it... it's probably a lot farther than just two miles. This was going to be one long night and it wasn't even really dark out yet.
My stomach started to grumble. Every bus stop that I passed, I stood at and waited. I even took the liberty of taking a bus schedule from a main terminal that I passed, but no buses going my way. Darn. I don't want to walk the whole way home! I'm fucking lazy.
You know what? To hell with you, Carly Shay. I will fucking move on. Yes. That's what I'll do. I'll round up my real best friends tonight and have a party. Yeah, I said friends, as in multiple friends. Shocking. I have more friends than just Carly and occasionally Freddie. He does bother me, but he has his moments. I still think he'd never figure out that I fucked his girl in my shower. Wow I curse a lot. Like, a lot a lot.
I rubbed my eyes and let a yawn drag out from my lips, filling the space around me. I still had a good few miles to go until I made it home and I had yet to catch a bus. Today was just not my day. I mean, it started out all right, the fact that I didn't have to do dishes alone, and taking a shower with Carly. But from then on, after we woke up from our random after-sex nap and took the bus to her place, it went downhill from there. I threaded my fingers through my wet hair. In the two hours that I had been walking and tormenting myself with these overwhelming feelings, the pouring rain had not let up. Damn Seattle for you, always having shitty weather. Finally, a bus came whizzing by me and just when I thought the public transportation vehicle had solved all my problems... nope, the large bus ended up splashing a big muddy puddle up at me, completely soaking me in dirty rain water. Great. This is just what I need. Not only am I miserable and heartbroken, now I'm completely soaked and dirty. I have to take another shower. I have to put my clean clothes through the wash again. Ugh. Today is seriously just.. not my day.
Either the bus driver saw me and felt bad or it was just genuine luck, but I managed to catch a bus, and find a quarter or two in that little tiny pocket of my jeans. I never use that pocket and I know I'm wearing my pants, so it's not like Carly put change in her pocket and left it and I found it. That would totally happen though. I think it happened once, last year when I borrowed her purple skinny jeans. I found like... ten bucks in her pocket. But I couldn't keep it. The one thing that I did pick up from hanging out with Carly so much was some kind of feeling towards guilt, maybe even a trace of a conscience. I couldn't keep the money that was obviously hers. So I gave her the money. But you know what she did with it? She bought me a smoothie at the Groovy Smoothie. Irony, I guess.
Sitting on the bus felt mildly relaxing. My feet were aching and numb from walking the distance that I did. But the pain I could feel from the waist down... it just didn't compare to how bad she had hurt me. My chest felt tight. My stomach was in knots. Did I really want to keep this crush up and keep trying? I'm starting to feel like Freddie, like trying to be with Carly is hopeless and I should just stop trying. Now would be a fabulous time for me to see one of those little lame shoulder angels or something, some fictional creature that could give me words of encouragement. But no. This was reality. You had to do shit on your own. Fuck. My. Life.
By the time I got home to my shitty apartment, it was just about eight o'clock. Mom was nowhere to be found, but she left some kind of a note. I couldn't really read all of it. The only words I recognized were my name, goat, ham, microwave, and bar. So she was at the bar with some guy named Goat and there was ham in the microwave? Score. I love me some ham. Now I need to find Mama's friends... Jack, the Captain, and Cola.
To my dismay, I opened the microwave and found no ham. But it smelled like ham. Maybe my mother had actually cooked something and had the decency to try to leave it for me but ate it anyway? Oh well. I guess she tried a little bit. It was more of the fact that my mother actually tried to do something a parent should do. Or maybe she tried to leave it for me and whoever was with her ate it, if someone was with her. Maybe a goat ate my ham. That's be kind of weird. Ham stuffed goat. Ha.
I opened the refrigerator and pulled out the three bottles that I needed, the only real friends I was going to have for the next couple of hours. I didn't even bother getting a cup. I headed off to my bedroom and locked my door. I felt a lot safe that way. But in all honesty? I did not feel safe at all. And I had a song stuck in my head, Yellowcard's Only One. That music video is really cute. I love that song. I remember when it first came out because I instantly fell in love with it - I like their unique sound, with the violin and whatnot - and I sang it to Carly. Of course, at the time, she didn't know I meant something by it. But I did. I sure as hell meant something.
Sitting with my back against the wall, I stared at my door, my eyes darting occasionally over to my window. Part of me hoped that Carly was pulling some kind of joke and was going to crawl up through my window any minute. The other part of me never wanted to speak to her again. How could she do that? I know she's grieving over her dad still, but ugh! At least she knew her parents. I still don't even know who my father is. Mom never knew who my father was. Why? She was too drunk to know who was fucking her and all she knew was that nine months later, I was born. Luckily she was able to stop drinking when she was pregnant, otherwise I would've had like.. six heads and ten excess limbs. Hurrah for avoiding fetal alcohol syndrome. I reached for the open bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey, taking a grand swig of it. The liquid burned my throat as I swallowed it. Sure, Mom would be pissed if she knew I was drinking, if she was even sober enough to care. But she'd probably be more pissed that I drank her stash. Stupid. Serves her right if she's going to leave it all out and in the open. I mean, the fridge is fair game, come on. That's like... a rule, or it should be.
My cell phone was going off in my pocket, ringing at me. But I didn't care right now. Well. I was curious to see who would be calling me. Reaching into my pocket as I took another sip, I blinked furiously to focus. I had been sipping the Jack for a little while now, making a dent in the already half gone bottle. It was half full when I got it and I think I drank about a quarter of it. I mean, it still sloshes around in the bottle and it's kinda heavy still. When I was able to focus, I saw that the called ID read Carly's name. I didn't open my phone, I just threw it. I tossed it across the room. I could still hear it ringing but I didn't want to answer. I could not. She couldn't know what I was doing, how I was getting over her, the way I decided to separate my friendships from my feelings.
Immediately after I threw my phone, I felt guilty. My guilt was overriding my better judgement and I started drinking the Jack down like water. I ignored the throbbing fire that trickled down my throat and welled in my stomach, causing more pain. It felt as if I just drank gasoline and swallowed a lit match, if that was at all possible. But you know what? My lips were still fucking tingling from kissing Carly. I could still remember the way she tasted, the way her tongue would try and battle with mine, the way that she would smile into each and every one of our kisses. God, I love her. Fuck. I am royally fucked, for real.
It felt like hours went by. And when I say hours, I mean fucking hours, like days and months. When my eyes opened, I realized I had only fallen asleep for about twenty minutes. I hadn't sobered much at all. My eyes felt heavy, so I kept them closed. Still had a good amount of Jack in the bottle and I hadn't even touched the unopened bottle of Captain. I could save that for tomorrow, if I even went to school. My phone was ringing across the room. I recognized the ring tone as the one assigned to Carly. I'll probably have a ton of messages from her in the morning if I don't check it the whole night. I bet she's worrying about me. Actually, no. Fuck her. I hope she IS worrying. After telling me she just wants to be friends and letting me fuck her in the shower and leading me on and cuddling with me and being all cute and shit... ha, no way is she getting off the hook for that brilliant idea.
Part of me felt guilty for thinking so much hatred against Carly, my best friend. She had been there for me through so much. Why can't I be there for her when she probably needs me right now, too? Tears were burning my closed eyes, forcing them to open up enough to roll down my face. I just don't know anymore. I continued drinking the Jack until the bottle had run dry. I was too drunk to care where the bottle went. I laid down on my bed, face half buried in my pillow, and the empty cap-less bottle rolled out of my hand, leaving my fingers.
The last thing I remember before my eyes became too filled with my drunken stupor of tears to see was that I heard my mother stroll into the apartment, or at least I think it was her. The apartment door had slammed open and closed again. Then she started pounding on my door, screaming for her bottle of Jack. The fire burned in my throat from the lingering alcohol residue. I don't even know if she stopped at the door because I started ignoring her as I lulled myself to sleep, thoughts cluttered and unfocused.