Ecstasy, Misery

4 | it's 1998, cruella

me and cinderella, put it all together

we can drive it home, with one headlight

one headlight - the wallflowers (1996)

May 8th, 1998

"Her house? Actually, sweetheart, I'd love to ask what you're doing at my house." Mr. Beautiful steps over to us with a smug smile, hands tucked in his jean pockets.

His house?! Briella and the girls live with Mr. Beautiful?! Oh, shoot, wait...what was his real name? It's starts with a C...Cody, Callum, Carter...

Connor!

Suddenly, all eyes are on me and I look around waiting for the explanation. Are they just now realizing how out of place my stupid outfit is?

"Yeah, that's me." Connor smiles at me after a stretch of silence and I realize I screamed his name out loud.

"Oops. Sorry, I didn't realize my brain was happening out loud." I explain, not wanting him to think I'm weird.

I take the time to let my eyes wander around the cluttered kitchen I've been corralled into while I hear someone faintly say 'she's a bit drunk' and hushed tones ensue, but I drown them out, uninterested.

Father would never do with a dirty kitchen like this one. There's dishes piled up in the sink, boxes of cereal and other snacks haphazardly thrown across the counters, and countless shoes litter the floor near the entryway, some not even with its matching counterpart.

A microwave sits atop a couple brown moving boxes that are stacked on top of each other, sticky notes crowding the greasy window. A round table sits in an alcove of the grimy room, one too many wooden chairs crowded around it.

Pretty Boy is still sitting in one of those chairs, now scooping up the money that he and Connor were counting in piles when we walked in and depositing it into a big, black fanny pack of some sort.

Come to think of it, I've never seen that much money in person.

"I believe it's customrry...custom-mary..." I start to explain to Connor and Pretty Boy, my eyes trained on all that money, "...to keep your money safe in a bank. Not in a fanny pack."

Pretty Boy stills, his hand still outstretched toward another stack of cash as he looks up at me and my heart starts beating faster, both from the overwhelming sight of his bright green eyes and the anxiety that he might say something mean again. Gosh, I should've just kept my mouth shut, like I always do. Why am I talking?

But, he didn't say anything mean. Instead, he just stared at me. Stared at me like I was the absolute scum of the Earth and would have to be out of my mind to think I was good enough to talk in the same direction as someone as cool and pretty as him.

I look down at my trusty Mary Jane's, biting the inside of my cheek and concentrate on not bursting into tears, suddenly feeling very stupid.

"Hey," A soft voice speaks up and then a pair of dirty, white Reeboks join my shiny Mary Jane's, "That was a very thoughtful suggestion. Tell me more about these so-called 'banks'."

I can't help but smile at Connor's gentle tone and shake my head, growing embarrassed. "You're making fun of me."

"Never." I look up and catch a quick wink he sends my way. "I'm just ecstatic that mysterious record store girl is apparently also the famous Rapunzel. Nova Deville, right?"

"You guys have met?" Nessa asks, confused.

"What is she doing here." A monotone voice pipes up from the kitchen table. It sounds even deeper than when I first heard it on Monday, like he's tired.