Author's note: Well this chapter did not go as planned: plot wise and quality wise. But I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 16: Aly Cries and Callaway's Chill Dies
"I couldn't forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely justified."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Chance
I stepped into my house with ease, sliding off my winter jacket, mittens and scarf. I spent a moment pulling deftly at the laces of my soggy sneakers, tugging them off as well.
"Dad!" I called to the house. "I'm home."
A familiar voice replied, "Dinner's ready in the kitchen, Chance."
At the remark, I ambled to the kitchen, instantly being met with the view of my dad pouring milk into some cups at the table. I stepped over, pulling out a chair glancing at the spaghetti that my dad and made.
"Looks great, Dad," I smiled as I sat down.
My dad beamed at me as we began eating.
We sat in silence for a long time. I surveyed my dad as he gazed out into the dim light of a nearby window, sighing every so often as he scooped his pasta.
His pale eyes shine with a tight exhaustion, a expression that was all too familiar to witness on my dad's face. My dad was only 47, but his demeanor held an inexplicable elderliness. I guessed that his tough years had conjured him into becoming wiser, thus realizing the burdensome effort in life. It was everlasting fear of mine that one day his weariness would overtake him, leaving him bare of weapons for the war of life and survival.
My speculations were interrupted by my dad clearing his throat, "So, Chance..."
I stifled a laugh, while I scooped at my pasta, "Yes?"
He pushed at his classes before continuing; "I found this brochure for an engineering program at this -"
"Dad, can we not talk about this now?" I sighed, frowning. "I don't want to be an engineer."
My dad took on a stern expression. "Don't be so adamant to be against any of my suggestions, Chance. You're going to have to go to university next year. You need some type of plan -"
"I have a plan," I asserted. "I'm going to get a Bachelors of Arts and -"
"And, what? Become an artist?" My dad scoffed. "We both know very well how that will turn out."
I stabbed at my spaghetti with a little more force than necessary. "It's a start, okay? At least it's something I want to do."
My dad exhaled exasperatedly, "I understand, you know that I do. Can't you just look at the brochure?"
I stared pointedly at my plate, huffing, "Fine, if it'll make you happy, I'll look at the program. But that doesn't mean I'll be interested in enrolling."
My dad pursed his lips, "Alright, I'll take what I can get."
We finished our spaghetti and meatballs in a tense silence.
I could understand where my father was coming from; being an artist was not the most rational choice. It was low paying, if paying at all and traditional artists had a difficult time finding jobs, due to the abundant preference for digital drawing/computer generated art.
My dad had been an artist once, and it had ruined him in multiple ways. His wife - my mother - had left him due to it and he had been obligated to take multiple jobs to take care of me. He had been urged to abandon his art, and instead, was now almost done his studies to become an accountant.
So I understood why he would be opposed to my interest, but that didn't refrain me from trying.
A long while later, I had emptied my plate, now sipping at the milk. I watched my dad as he sat opposite of me with his herbal tea and newspaper in hand. I only glared at him childishly, frowning profusely every time his eyes caught my gaze. My glaring was interrupted by the loud melody of my ringtone blaring from my pocket.
I stepped away from the table, not even giving my father an excuse or apology. I made my way into my bedroom, closing the door, ensuring privacy as I answered my phone.
"Hello?" I spoke into it uneasily, unsure as to who was on the other side.
"Chance, I am in dire need of assistance. Come to my place of residence immediately."
I gaped at my phone in shock.
"Callaway? Are you okay? Are you hurt? What's wrong?" I couldn't help but ramble, as worries overtook me. "What do you want me for?"
"Pest control."
A high-pitched whining could be discerned from the background of the call, though its origins were unknown to me.
"What does that even mean? What's that sound? Are you -" before I could complete my sentence, Callaway hung up.
I cursed at my phone, jamming it back into the pocket of my jeans. I scrambled out of my room, passing the kitchen in which held my confused father. I clambered towards the front entrance, gripping at my coat and scarf in a flurry. I snatched the car keys from a small hook by the door, while simultaneously attempting to tie my shoes.
I yanked the door open while bellowing back to my dad, "Going out with the car!"
I felt the arctic night air hit against my face.
As I stepped out the door, I heard a distant "Where are you going?"
Though I slammed the door, drowning out the inquiring voice of my dad. I raced down the steps of our apartment, almost slipping on a spot of ice. I tried my best to maintain my balance and elegance as I scuttled towards my dad's car. I grasped idly at the black door handle, jerking it open before sliding in.
I let my worries engulf me as the view of my apartment disappeared behind me.
__________
I rapped at Callaway's door with unyielding force, stuffing my fingers into my pockets to keep warm.
I waited impatiently, tapping my foot against the pavement of the steps that Callaway and I had fallen on less than a week ago. I recalled the seemingly distant memory with discomfort (due to Callaway's injury), remembering the passive reaction he had had to having shards of glass ingrained into his palm. His stoicism in that situation made me worry as to what Callaway was dealing with now; he had sounded nonchalant on the phone call, but the meaning of his words made distress rise in my chest.
My anxious thoughts were interrupted by light flooding my vision, the door opening in front of me.
I stared at the doorway in concern, eyes being met with a woman. She was smaller than Callaway, but had the same dark brown curly hair that he adorned, though her hair was notably more taken care of. She also possessed the selfsame button nose as the short boy.
"Mrs. Lawson, how are you?" I greeted at Callaway's mother.
"Fine, thanks." She smiled thinly. "And who are you?"
"Chance Andrews," I spoke coolly, despite my panicking interior.
I felt a twinge of disappointment at her lack of recognition, but shrugged it off. I wasn't surprised by that fact that Callaway hadn't mentioned me to his parents; I was but a measly friend he had acquired at school.
"I'm Callaway's friend," I added, a little too late.
"Another one?" She frowned, though opened the door wider, granting me access. "He's up in his room - I'm assuming you know your way there."
"I do - thank you," I assured, feigning a smile.
At the dismissal, I shuffled past Mrs. Lawson before racing across the hallway and up the stairs. I glanced within a few unfamiliar rooms before locating the white of a closed door I knew to be Callaway's bedroom.
I knocked against the wood, and as I knocked, my ears could perceive the distinct sound of shuffling movement and crying. Which was odd; Callaway had seemed perfectly composed on the phone not even twenty minutes ago, it would be a surprise for him to be crying. Especially because of the whole 'Antisocial Personality Disorder' thing. Though crying was an unlikely occurrence for someone like Callaway, it wasn't impossible; he had cried - or at least I thought he had - on the day of the sticky note crisis. But that had been mild; fleeting.
The crying that was presently drifting through the air was violent and shrill, so not Callaway.
So I waited, and in a few moments the door swung open to a view of an ever-irritated Callaway.
"Please deal with the situation at hand as you see fit," he muttered, stalking over to his bed and abandoning me in the doorway.
I ignored him though, eyes fixated on the mess that was the origin of the weeping.
I stepped closer to the bawling Aly, watching as she stood in the corner shaking with sobs.
I hissed, "What is she doing here?"
My attention turned back to Callaway, who was sprawled across his bed, staring at his laptop as he picked at the frosting of a pink cupcake.
"I'm incapable of giving you an answer." He grimaced, attention focused on his sugary delicacy.
At our speaking, Aly had raised her head from her hands, eyes widening at me in fear.
"You called him?" She hiccoughed. "You lied to me, you said you were -"
"I say a lot of things," Callaway grumbled.
Aly let out another broken sob, face sticky with tears. She tugged at her hair incessantly, hands shaking.
"Chance, I know you don't owe me anything, but you have to help me," Aly croaked. "I'm just trying to apologize to him, but he won't listen."
"Apologize?" I scoffed. "You're joking, right? Did you even hear what you did to him?"
Aly tears augmented. "I know, I hate myself for it. I didn't mean to -"
"It's not about whether or not you meant to," I explained. "All that matters is that you did and you shouldn't even be here."
"You're right. I just want to make things right, and I don't know how." She wiped absentmindedly at her cheeks.
"I think you're beyond making things 'right' with him -"
"Can we refrain from talking as if I'm not currently present?" Callaway questioned almost innocently from where he sat.
Aly's gaze whipped towards him at the question. "Callaway, I'm so sorry. Please just listen to me -"
"Chance," Callaway gestured to Aly, "Pest control."
"Aly, your effort has been noted, but can you please leave?" I asked, though the words resounded as more of an order.
"But I -"
"We've all had enough anxiety for one day, come back some other time - or never."
Aly paled at my words, a choking noise emitting from her lips. Her gaze flittered between Callaway and I.
She wheezed, "Chance, I -"
"Not now," I cut her off.
"It was reckless and terrible." She looked at me with pain in her eyes before croaking, "I was drunk."
____________
Callaway
I couldn't help but cackle at the hilarity of the situation.
Aly entering a cafe - intoxicated - for the sole purpose of talking shit to her ex-boyfriend's friend because she thinks they're fucking?
Hilarious.
And perhaps mildly depressing, due to the realization of how idiotic the general teenage population was.
Though, expectedly, Chance and Aly were unimpressed with my obscene sniggering, glaring daggers.
"Is he laughing?" Aly puffed at me with desolation.
I nodded vigorously. "This is absolutely comical." I took a large bite at the cupcake within my grasp, speaking around the vanilla flavoring, "Please do continue."
Chance ignored Aly's question and my assurance of amusement, eyes squinting in scrutiny at the brunette. "Am I going insane, or did you just say you were drunk?"
Aly eyes and mouth gaped as she gasped, "Y -yeah. I was being stupid and Zander -"
"Zander?" Chance's visage twitched in recognition. "Oh - right, 'the hard stuff'. Clearly he hadn't been kidding," he muttered to himself.
"We had met at noon and had drank - whatever he had," Aly sniffled, composing herself. "It was reckless - I have no tolerance for liquor and Zan was practically shoving the stuff down my throat."
I watched the exchange passively as my cackling began to cease. The conversation unfolding before me grew more funereal; entirely humourless. But at Aly's admittance I suddenly became curious.
"Specify how getting wasted coincides with verbally abusing me in a goddamn coffee shop," I sneered.
Aly discernibly flinched at my voice. "I - Zander told me Chance was meeting you and I panicked."
I observed, uncaring as agony flickered across Aly's features, face become damp with tears once again.
I was mere milliseconds from scoffing, but Chance beat me to it. "You panicked?"
Aly shivered while gasping, "Yes, I mean -"
"How did you even get to the cafe?" Chance commanded.
"I drove," Aly admitted, though her eyes blinked in distress.
Chance grumbled, incredulous, "You drove? While that drunk? Jesus."
I surveyed Chance dexterously as he stalked his way towards me, sliding into the spot adjacent to me on the bed, shoulder pressing against mine. I offered the container of cupcakes to him in an action of amicability and retaliation against the enemy; Aly. He took one graciously, shoving half of it past his lips. I nodded to him in silent approval, and he grinned maliciously at me.
"Would you care for some Southern Comfort?" I gripped at the lone bottle on my nightstand, raising it in offering. "And if you're feeling particularly festive, we could pair it with some eggnog."
"You have eggnog?" Chance simpered, upholding our nonchalant facade in order to aggravate Aly.
"Generally, I just consume in its natural state, but I presumed that you - like most - wouldn't be fond of that," I confessed.
"You know what, Callaway?" Chance smiled, voice coy. "I don't think I want alcohol, because I don't want to end up doing something abominable that could hurt others due to my inane recklessness. But thanks for offering."
Chance's gaze was fixed upon my face, but the words bursting from his chapped lips were directed to the quivering girl still present in the room.
"Whatever," I slurred, grabbing at the bottle of SoCo with agile fingers. "More for me, courtesy of of Aly and her idiocy."
I broken sob echoed from Aly's lips. "You guys are assholes. I came here to try to make things right - I brought peace offerings and you practically spit in my face." Her voice shook with both fury and bleakness. "I'm trying."
Her subdued outburst is what finally coerced me into retreating from my spot on the bed, standing up in anger.
"Aly - what you said today was absolutely despicable," I growled. "You better thank Jesus - or whatever other bullshit omniscient being you believe in - for granting me the access to psychotherapy and meds. Because if you had done this to the unmedicated and unstable 16 year-old Callaway, you would be crying for a utterly different reason than a petty sense of guilt."
Chance jumped towards me from his previous location on my bed, placing a firm palm against my shoulder.
"Callaway," Chance uttered in distinct warning.
I ignored him, jerking my shoulder away from his grasp. I stomped over to my bed to sulk, like the civilized 18 year-old I was.
Chance let out a soft breath before muttering, "Aly - and Callaway." I groaned at his stern tone. "We can either all calm down and talk about our troubles in a mature manner or..." Chance trailed off, eyes flitting around in question.
"Or what?" Aly spoke softly, dragging her palm against her cheek in attempt to wipe the dampness from her features.
Chance shrugged, suggesting, "Or we can leave Callaway to pout and get drunk, while leaving this problem unresolved for the rest of our lives. "
I sat, staring at the ceiling while bringing the glass of the bottle to my lips. I focused on the scorching sensation of the liquor dribbling down my throat, attempting to disregard the entirety of the situation at hand. It was proving difficult.
"Chance - do you hate me?" Aly sniffled.
The question rendered me attentive, gaze traveling from the white of the ceiling to the face of the speaker.
Chance spoke, baffled, "Are... Is that what this is about?"
Aly's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Chance huffed, "is this all some twisted plot to get my attention?"
Chance stepped away from the brunette, exasperated as he came to sit beside me once again on my bed.
Aly paled, stuttering, "No - well, I mean - sort of."
I observed passively as Aly plucked at a loose lock from her ponytail.
"Chance, I'm selfish, okay?" Aly confessed. "You were my best friend and unrequited love. But you've known Callaway for a week and I still know you would choose him before me."
Aly's voice was barren of the anger I suspected, but instead was brimming with piercing bleakness.
"It hurts and pain does stupid things to people. Especially lovesick - and drunk - teenage girls." Aly let out an agonizing laugh. "Callaway, what I did to you was despicable and I understand that. I just want you to recognize the fact that I don't mean a word of what was said today in the cafe and that if there is anything I can do to make it up to you, I will gladly oblige. I - I never meant to hurt you in anyway. I tormented you for my own personal gain in a means of keeping you away from Chance and I'm indescribably sorry."
My eyes squinted in askance, replying, "I appreciate the sentiment."
Aly nodded curtly in response, inhaling roughly. "And Chance, I know that you don't feel the same way about me. I'm fine with it - or more so, will be fine with it soon. I just..." She sighed softly, no more tears trailing down her cheeks. "I still want to be your best friend. If you'll let me, that is."
Aly stared at Chance blankly for a moment before announcing, "And I give you my blessing for dating Callaway and whatever."
I snorted at that, setting the bottle I was nursing a top of my nightstand.
Chance glimpsed at me, before advancing towards Aly, muttering, "Thanks, I guess. And yes - I'll still be your best friend."
Aly's face shined like a light in the obscurity of nightfall; blindingly unreserved and distinct to anyone. She beamed at Chance, red-rimmed eyes crinkling in exultation.
"Thank you - "
"But..." Chance interjected.
Aly's grin twitched ever-slightly at the statement, but didn't dwindle.
Chance continued, "Please be kind to Callaway. Don't ever try to pull anything similar again - drunk or not." Chance raised a threatening finger, as if reprimanding a toddler. "He's my friend, too. "
Aly nodded fervently, gaze meeting mine. "Of course... Again, Callaway I'm extraordinarily sorry. What was said was -"
"All true. Perhaps they were truths better kept unuttered, but truths nonetheless," I spoke cynically.
Aly's smile transcended into a careful glower, eye brows furrowing.
"Callaway, I -," Aly paused, " You're wrong. I called you pathetic, a loser and a walking abortion. None of that is true."
"Maybe, but you also listed a multitude of unfortunate facts about me; all my shortcomings and issues. Backing up your convoluted and meticulous theory of my fucked up-ness."
" Everyone has problems and faults, Callaway," Aly assured. "But that doesn't make you a bad person. You're mentally ill and that isn't something you can help. Besides, you're better person than I could ever possibly be."
Though she ceased her sobbing, Aly continued to express a severe air of forlornness.
I grimaced at her. "I doubt the accuracy of that statement."
"Well, if anyone is pathetic here, it's not you or Chance."
I shrugged, gently raising the tray of cupcakes towards the frail looking girl. She gaped at me, addled. I shook the plastic container in way of expressing offering.
"Um," Aly began, gripping at the wrapping of the meager desert. "Thank you."
She stepped toward my bed, fierce contemplation imminent in her eyes. Though, in favor of accompanying the occupants of my bed, she turned around, perching on the pale wood of my desk chair.
Aly smiled brightly, mouthing her lips at the pink frosting. "These are actually okay."
Chance - still seated beside me - spoke up suddenly, "Wait - did you make them?"
"Well - yeah," Aly admitted. "I made them yesterday when I was bored."
I glared at Aly. The insouciance of the conversation served as a great discomfort.
I groaned at the visitors in my room, "It would be preferable if you all left me to get shitfaced in peace."
Aly ignored my request, blurting, "Callaway, can I ask you something?"
"I'd rather not -"
"Do you want to be my friend?"
I choked on the cupcake in my mouth. The bluntness of the inquiry almost searing as it hit my ears. She was asking to be friends after the incidents of the day?
I replied, "Could you iterate? I believe I'm losing what exiguous grasp I still have on my sanity."
"Never mind, that's probably out of your comfort zone," Aly remembered. "Would you be opposed to being acquaintances?"
"I - " I huffed. "You know what? Fine," I grumbled, swallowing the remnants of my fourth cupcake with ease. "We can be amicable, if that's what you deeply desire."
My scorching gaze squinted in skepticism as I articulated, "But don't believe for one moment that I'll allow you to permeate my life without some breed of repayment for your actions."
"Of course, I'll do anything for you..."Aly assured solemnly. "Acquaintance."
"I thoroughly regret this arrangement," I groaned.
Aly disregarded me, laughing in delight. Chance only shook his head, lips quirking.
I stared longingly at the Southern comfort, before gripping it in my small palm.
I moaned, "Two friends in one week? Fuck, I need a drink."
__________
Author's note: Yay for Aly and friendship! Hope you enjoyed this very bipolar chapter, stay tuned for more from these losers!