I Only Want What I Can't Have

Chapter 1

 I was sitting in my bedroom, leaning against the windowsill with the window wide open. A cigarette was pinched between the middle and forefinger of my right hand. I stared at the Chicago skyline in the near distance, taking a slow drag on the cigarette, and wondered what game of chance I'd lost to be stuck here. I lived just outside the city, and I hated it. I hated everything about it. I couldn't stand having to even step foot in Chicago for anything. I liked my peace and quiet, as far from the city as I could get. Unfortunately for me, Glenview seemed to be the furthest I could manage.

It's not like I could just leave. I'm only seventeen-years-old, and I have absolutely no prospects as far as college is concerned. In fact, I blatantly refused to apply anywhere. I just didn't know what I wanted to do, and I hated the idea of starting college "undecided." I hated the label. I wasn't undecided, I just wanted more than five minutes to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Was that so much to ask? I hated the way my teachers and my parents kept getting on me about it too. Even my older brother was starting to bear down on me about it. He didn't even go to college so he really can't talk, but he does anyway. I hated it. Honestly, I hated a lot of things.

Peace and quiet, however, I loved. Coincidentally, that was the one thing I never seemed to have, and if the vibrations running through the floorboards of our one-story house was anything, it was a cruel reminder of it. My brother, by the way, is a drummer.

I know.

Kill me now.

I stomped my foot on the floor as hard as I could, as if I really thought he would hear me. His stupid friends were over again, and they were making a ruckus down in the basement. They started a band a few years ago. They're okay, I guess, but they're so loud and so incredibly obnoxious. I would at least expect them to throw some ragers, or even party a little, but they're all as boring as my brother, who never drinks, and never goes out to do anything fun. Plus, they're a bunch of dorks. I just can't stand them sometimes.

I flicked the butt of my cigarette out the window and onto the concrete driveway. I knew I'd hear about it from my mom later, but I didn't care. I got up and stomped out of my room, making sure to slam my feet down in a counter rhythm to my brother's drums. Our parents were both at work, on a Friday evening, so I wandered into my dad's study to break into his wine cooler. Thankfully, there wasn't just wine in there. He had a whole collection of alcohol that I'd been quietly stealing from for years. If I had to put up with my brother and his friends, at least I wasn't going to do it sober.

I decided on a generous splash of my father's Crown Royal, and then made my way to the kitchen for some Coke to mix it with. Just my luck, who was already in the kitchen? One of my brother's friends. I set my glass down on the kitchen island none too gently, and the boy that had been leaning into the fridge straightened up and spun around to look at me in surprise. Duh, I thought, I'm always home when you guys are here.

He was probably my least favorite of my brother's friends. He was my age, short, not too skinny, and he always wore these dumb-looking trucker hats. For a while, I thought maybe he wore them to pull attention away from his obnoxious sideburns, but then I figured, he could just shave the sideburns, which he never did. I think he was the singer in my brother's band. You'd never guess if you had to talk to him; he was as shy as they came. His name was Patrick. I hated it.

He stared at me, clearly unsure of what to do, and I raised my eyebrows at him. I gestured to the fridge, knowing it was obvious what I was waiting for. Move, I thought, Is it that difficult?

Instead of moving out of my way, Patrick glanced down to the glass I had slammed on the counter. "Hey, Sophie," Patrick said, frowning. Yeah, that's my name. Sophie Hurley. I hated that too. Could my parents have picked anything girlier? I didn't answer Patrick, I just scoffed overdramatically and walked around the island to push past him. I reached into the fridge and pulled out a can of Coca-Cola, cracked it open and poured it into the glass with the Crown. Patrick was still watching me. Maybe he'd learn something. I stirred the drink with my finger, then stuck my finger in my mouth and glanced at Patrick before I deftly turned away to saunter my way back to my room. I didn't miss the look of disappointment on his face. Everyone always gave me that face. Guess what? I hated it.