To Love and Be Loved

1 | meeting in the a.m.

NINA

Something you should know about me is that I hate to drink. I loathe the taste and am not fond of not being in control of my actions, so I don't consume booze of any kind.

Unfortunately, the so-called friends that I spend my time with do.

That's how I arrived at Kacie West's party on a Friday Night, by being dragged down the block to the West residence by a handful of girls who had already begun to drink bottles of liquor.

"Come one, Nina, just one drink?" Alexa, flipping her blonde hair back, smirked and gestured to the red cup. "It's just gin, not even that strong."

"No, I told you that I don't want anything." Just an hour later, I'd already lost count of how many times she'd asked if I wanted a drink.

Despite my sure answer, she snapped, "Stop being such a snob and take the drink."

"I said no. Stop trying to force it on me." Fed up with her antics, I walked away, bumping her shoulder on my way past. Swarming through the crowds of drunken teenagers, my mind went through my friend list, ticking each and and every one of them off. They all knew the reason why I didn't drink, but still pushed me to do so.

I needed better friends, that much was obvious.

A hand wrapped itself around my arm as I was on my way out. A hand that belonged to none other than Jack Wilder, a popular athlete who had an apparent crush on me. Too bad he was a jerk.

"Hey Nina, where ya off to? Party just started!" Yeah, two hours ago. Considering that he loved to keep tabs on me, he should know that I never stayed at parties too long.

"I'm not leaving just yet, I was on my way to the swing outside." My observations of Jack picked up that he wanted to ask an important question, one that I did not want to face just yet. His cues were practically transparent. His eyes nervously refused to meet my own and he kept shifting on his feet. Playing with the hem of his shirt was another sign, as well as the slight crease in his forehead.

He seemed to relax with relief that he still had time to ask me out on a date. One that I would not be joining him on. "Ah, well- I, uh, wanted to ask you something. I was wondering if you-" Before Jack could finish his sentence, his attention shifted to someone behind me. "Sorry, hold on," he held up a hand. "I gotta go for a second- hey! Weir! You gotta problem?" And he was gone.

Glancing behind me, I caught the eye of Monroe Weir, the supposed bad boy around here. Jack was invading his personal bubble with fervor, spouting threats about God-knows-what, but Monroe kept his gaze on me.

In the dim lighting of the room, his brown eyes glinted, his stare holding something like relief. For what, I didn't know, but their business was none of mine. Turning from the pair, I found myself bored on the porch, sitting in the sturdy swing and staring up at the stars. Soon enough, though, commotion sounded from inside, my feet carrying me to the doorway. My somehow-clear view to the building conflict displayed both Monroe and Jack toe-to-toe in a fist fight. Monroe seemed reluctant, but still ended up winning by a tough uppercut.

The surrounding crowd cheered him on, the excitement wearing thin with some of Jack's buddies pushing through to continue the brawl.

Monroe, seeing them coming, raced to the front door towards me. I expected him to run right past, but he didn't, instead grabbing my hand and tugging me out to his car parked on the lawn.

"Get in." He just about demanded.

"Wait, what?" My puzzlement didn't phase him as he got out his car keys. "I... I don't even know you. You don't know me."

At that, his eyes rolled, head tilting to one side. "Well, you've at least heard of me, right? Monroe Weir, the bad boy with a deadly fist." He grinned cheekily from one side of his dark blue Lexus. "And I do know you, or at least of you. Nina Anders with the pretty smile." A wink surfaced from his light brown eyes.

"Of course I've heard of you, but I don't trust you enough to get in the car with you."

"Alright, well, what if I told you that I don't drink or do drugs nor do I have a death trap of a motorcycle?"

I contemplated for a moment before deciding that he was of no threat to me. He had no weapons visible to the eye, no strange aura, so why not? I knew how to defend myself in minor danger, so why not get in the car with Monroe Weir in the early AM? My mind was already made up, so I climbed into his Lexus and buckled up, Monroe doing the same.

He pulled off into the night and away from the trouble behind. We were free from the oppression of drunken teenagers and dim lights. We were free.