A/N--Hiya pals! So this chapter has not really been proofread, I'm going to go in and do that later. But it's super long (I think) and while it may seem somewhat pointless, it has a lot to do with upcoming chapters! SO yeah :) I hope you enjoy.
Vote/comment/like...whatever you'd like!
Oh! And the adorable little guy on the side is Darko :) My dream dog right there!
"Are you fucking for reals?" Jeanie asks me over the phone later that afternoon as I'm sitting on one of the barstools in our kitchen, supervising my sister as she makes cookies and brownies for our new house guest. She's been bouncing around like a pink and sparkly energizer bunny ever since Ethan and my mom left, and she practically begged for me to come and sit in here to make sure she doesn't burn the house down.
Right now, Darla's currently stirring frantically at the bowl of raw cookie dough, and I'm finding it very amusing because she has a huge clump resting right above her eyebrow and she doesn't even realize it. It's nice to see my perfect, no-can-do-wrong sister looking like an idiot with cookie dough on her face.
I say back to Jeanie, "Yep. Apparently that's the convo I missed at dinner last night." I miss one dinner, just one, and we now have this crazy attractive guy moving into our house for the next two-and-a-half months. Crazy shit happens really fast obviously.
Jeanie scoffs and says, "Whatever. Last night was totally worth it. They haven't had a party that great in a while."
"I know," I agree, bringing my foot up on the bar stool so that I can pick mindlessly at my toenails. "The past few have sucked royally..."
Before I can even finish my sentence, Jeanie pipes up and says, "Oh! Fred and Jesse wanted to hit up the go kart track tonight. You're in, right?" Of course she doesn't really have anything to say about my life being drastically altered this summer. She never wants to talk about me or stuff I have going on in my life. Half the time, I don't even believe she knows that my dad has won three Grammys or met Paul McCartney.
But still I say, "Sure," my answer for pretty much anything she ever asks me to do. Not only do I not have any other friends than Jeanie and the guys, if I ever back out of anything they get mad, calling me stuff like lame and no fun. Since they already like to point out how much of a bore I am even when I am hanging out with them, I try not to give them quite so much ammo. While I know I'm not the most fun person in the world-I'm happy as a clam sitting on my ass all day and reading or listening to music-it's not exactly fun listening to your friends tell you how much of a bore you are. "What time?"
She laughs, "Like I have any clue. You know Fred; he wouldn't know what time it was if there was a clock shoved up his ass."
"Yet you sleep with him every night," I point out with a roll of my eyes, knowing that Jeanie and Fred's relationship is as much about bad talking each other as it is making out every second that they're not fighting. The two of them are the definition of a hot-and-cold relationship, and half of the time Jesse and I don't even pay them much attention. They usually give us a headache.
"You say that like it's some kind of reason to be nice to him or something," she says, but even I know that she's as in love with him as someone could ever be. Although she talks bad about him most of the time, I know that if they ever broke up she'd be devastated.
My sister interrupts my train of thought when she screams, "Hallie, help me!" and the second that I look up I see white powder engulfing the large kitchen. Without even thinking I hang up my cell phone and jump off of the bar stool running around the counter so that I can see what the hell she's gotten herself into now.
I swear this girl and a kitchen just do not match. Like at all.
When I see what's happened, that she set the mixer setting way too high and poured way too much flour in the cookie dough bowl, I run over the outlet where the mixer is plugged in and basically rip it out of the wall. The room goes completely still for a while, Darla probably having her internal freak-out while I'm looking at her like she's crazy. How does someone even manage to have so many kitchen freak outs?
"You okay?" I ask her after a few more moments of silence, hoping that she's not about to cry or something. I know how Darla can be; she's used to doing everything right and being perfect at everything, so not succeeding in something really hits her hard.
It's one of the few problems I don't have.
She nods solemnly while slowly starting to take a few steps away from the counter, acting as if the thing is on fire or something. Her big hazel eyes slowly start to water up and before I even know what I'm doing, I offer her up, "Hey, how about you make another batch and this time I help?"
"That's okay," she says sadly, looking up at me almost like she's confused. "I heard you on the phone, go hang out with Jeanie."
"That's not until later," I tell her, feeling somewhat bad that she thinks I'd really just jump at the chance to leave her here since Jeanie called. Does she really find me that awful and uncaring? I mean I know I'm not the best big sister in the world, but I still want her to think alright of me. But who am I kidding? My mom has probably poisoned her brain to hate me or find me terrible or something. "Come on, I'll just..." I go over to the fridge to grab some eggs for the next batch, but before I know it, Darla has pretty much started yelling at me.
"No!" When I look over at her, she walks back to the fridge and slams the door shut, keeping me shielded away from it like I'll turn it to flames or something. She starts shaking her head frantically back and forth and says, "Just let me do it, okay? Just go out and drink and party or whatever you do all the time! I know you really don't want to be here!"
What the hell...? I think silently to myself. I didn't do anything remotely wrong to her! All I did was ask her if she needed help and then basically volunteer myself to do something that I really didn't even want to do. But she's still going to freak out on me like I've been a total bitch or something? "Fine," I say, trying my hardest to swallow back the tears in my throat, "I won't help you then."
"Awesome," she says tightly, turning away from where she's been facing me and then going to back to empty the huge bowl of dough into the garbage dispenser.
And this is the curse. The curse of everyone underneath this fucking roof hating my guts. This is exhibit A right here. I've done nothing wrong to her, absolutely nothing, and yet she still finds the need to unleash on me like I'm the world's worst person. I don't know what I've done to make her hate me so much, hell for my entire family to hate me so much, and it drives me crazy.
So that's why I just don't even deal with it anymore. That's why I go out all of the time with people who usually don't like me unless I'm drunk and funny. I do it to get away from the people who I actually care about, but who hate me in return. It hurts being around them so much when I know that all they want is for me to not exist. They'd all be so much happier if I wasn't here.
With that depressing thought, I hurry out of the kitchen and then pound up the stairs and into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. My little black pug dog Darko immediately jumps up at the sound, and even though he can't see me with his vision so messed up, he still has my scent so down pat that he knows exactly where to run to get to me. A sad smile gracing my lips-at least my dog loves me, right?-I pick him up and then curl him into my chest, closing my eyes against his soft fur.
I've had Darko since is fifteen and he's been the absolute light of my life ever since. He's my baby. We rescued him from the pound for my birthday, and even though the woman told me that his vision was going to slowly get worse and worse as months went on, I didn't care. He'd already stolen my heart.
And he still manages to make me feel better when I've had the shittiest day possible.
"I love you boo," I whisper to him when I feel okay enough to pull away from him, and after pecking the top of his head, I carry him on over to the side of my room with the window seat. I take my usual position on the cushioned seat, and after Darko has curled himself into a nice little ball and gone right back to sleep, I grab the book that I've been reading for about a month now and let my crappy life slowly fade into oblivion.
XXXXXX
"I thought you said we were going to the go kart track," I say quietly to where only Jeanie can here. The three of them picked me up about an hour ago-three hours before they were supposed to, but I didn't want to chance running into my mom-and since then we've been to McDonalds, to Fred's house to pick up his older brother, the liquor store so that his older brother can buy us stuff, and then back to Fred's house. We haven't left yet. In fact, all four of us are actually laying out on the sofas and chairs in Fred's media room, and I'm starting to get confused. The go kart track closes at nine on weekdays and it's already seven thirty.
It takes her a while to respond, her eyes still fixated on the TV where Spongebob is playing. I hate the show; hate it with every single fiber of my being, actually. But the three of them love it and I'm not going to be the one complainer. No thank you. I'll just mess around on my phone while they watch it.
When she finally answers me, she says, "Well we were...but apparently something big is going to happen at Franky's friend's house. So we're just going to head there instead."
I know exactly where she's talking about. Franky is Fred's older brother, the one that always buys us alcohol, and he really only has one friend. I've never actually heard his name, though, mainly because I'm pretty inebriated by the time that he manages to get the balls to come and talk to girls. Sad thing is that he's twenty-four, making him five years older than Jeanie and I. But he is still usually scared out of his mind to come and talk to us.
Whatever, though, I honestly don't care. Apparently Jeanie's hooked up with him before-before she was with Fred, of course-and she said there's nothing about him worth mentioning again.
"Oh," I tell her, just a bit disappointed. Although I do love going out to parties and stuff, I know how the ones at his house are. Other than drinking and hooking up with people, there's not much to do. That's really not my forte, honestly. I like going out to the frat parties because they're dance parties, where I can just lose myself in the music and not have to think about anything other than dancing.
So I guess I was just looking forward to doing something other than getting drunk at a random's house and watching Jesse go and hook up with random girls.
But now I have to.
Awesome.
"Yeah," she says happily, "Now let's go fix our faces or something. I'm bored." With that, she clambers off of the couch and then after grabbing me so that I can mindlessly follow behind her; we disappear into Fred's bathroom.
Since she basically lives here, she pulls out the bottom drawer of the cabinet and grabs her skull-covered makeup bag. She then pats the granite countertop and instructs, "Hop on. I'm going to make you sexy."
"Nothing will work," I point out to her, but hop onto the counter anyways. Any kind of makeup she'll put on me will make me look better than I do now. Since I thought we were just going ride go karts, I didn't bother with my hair or my makeup, knowing that it wouldn't matter since it'd just get whipped off in the wind anyways. And besides, it's not like Jesse notices me with or without makeup anyways.
She rolls her big and pretty blue eyes at me and says, "Oh hush, bitch. You're doubting me. Don't doubt me."
As she ruffles through the makeup bag and then brings out two different things of foundation and powder, bronzer, blush, three different types of eyeliner and eye shadow, her huge tube of sparkly mascara, and some pouty lip gloss, I start to wonder what I've gotten myself into. Sure she's done my makeup and everything, but she's never gone this overboard. Not once. I don't want to look like some clown completely out of place.
"Now bend towards me, your face is too far," she instructs.
Before I give in, though, I ask her, "Are you seriously going to put all that stuff on my face?"
"Of course not!" she exclaims, "This is just to see what looks good. We have a shit ton of time so I'm going to experiment.
Suddenly feeling calmer, I relax onto the counter and then let her do whatever she thinks will make me look better.
She's done an hour-and-a-half later, and she looks pretty damn proud of herself when she is. Feeling hopeful that maybe she's pulled off some kind of miracle, I turn around and examine my reflection in the mirror. Although I do look better than I did before she started, I don't look half as gorgeous as she does naturally.
Jeanie is what one would call a natural beauty. Actually, everyone on the face of the planet would call her that. She's got this amazing bone structure, gorgeous and huge blue eyes, and brown hair that can be woken up on and still look beautifully messy. Anything with a penis is attracted to her, that's for sure. I cannot tell you how many times guys have come up to me only to ask about her, to ask if that guy she's with is a boyfriend or just a fling. It is a bit hard on the self-esteem to have a friend so gorgeous, not going to lie.
I'm not ugly, though, I will commend myself on that. But while Jeanie just naturally looks sexy, I naturally look like an attractive fourteen-year-old, that's all. The makeup, though, does help. I look borderline legal now, what with my foundation perfected complexion and perfectly darkened eyelids. My favorite thing she's done is pulling my light brown hair into a messy side braid. I've never been able to pull off the perfect one that I've seen in pictures, but apparently Jeanie can do it effortlessly. I think it took her five minutes.
She tugs onto the bottom of the braid and gives me a smile, the smile that I love to receive because it shows that she does actually care about me as a friend. Sometimes I wonder why she ever really hangs out with me. I'm not nearly as perfect as she is.
She says proudly, "Gorgeous. Now let me fix myself and then we can raid through my clothes, 'kay?"
I nod my head and then hop off of the counter, taking the toilet as a seat since I know she doesn't need my help with her makeup. She can do her own in about ten minutes and look like she just stepped off a catwalk or something.
As she does her own we make mindless small talk, her talking about how she doesn't know if she should make the special effort and shave her legs, and me telling her that Fred probably could not give a shit if she had a slight prickle here and there. He's always so fucking horny when it comes to her.
When she's done, we then make our way back through the dark hallway and into Fred's room, the stench of weed and dirty clothes barely noticeable to me now. I plop onto the corner of the bed, knowing that Jeanie's going to want to pick out what I wear, and just watch and wait as she digs through her half of the closet. She emerges about five minutes later, a cut off band T-shirt and some ripped blue jean shorts in her hands. She tosses them to me and says, "You want to wear my wedges?"
I look down at the shorts in my hands and realize that they're short enough for me to not wear heels. I'll just wear the ripped Converse already on my feet. "Nah, they're short enough."
She shakes her head as she walks back into the closet and calls out, "That's the different between me and you, Hallie. You know how to look sexy but not slutty. I've never learned that difference!"
"Well it doesn't really matter for you," I respond, "Fred could care less what you wear, as long as he gets to take it off later that night."
"Tis true!" she giggles, and then I see her emerge once again, holding a black skin-tight skirt and a crop top in her hands. She quickly gets to stripping, sliding on the outfit before finishing it off with the wedges she'd just offered to me.
I follow her lead, changing my clothes too, and I can't help but be consciously aware of the fact that the top bares just a little sliver of my stomach. Although I'm not fat in the slightest, I still have that little pudginess at the bottom and I know that it gets more noticeable when I'm drinking. But I know better than to say anything because Jeanie will give me a five-minute rant about how I'm a sexy motherfucker who just worries too much.
So I just slyly slide my arm over the exposed sliver, and then walk back into the living room with her. Jesse and Fred both pop up at our arrival, my eyes going directly to Jesse to see if he likes what he sees. Unfortunately, though, his eyes are trained on Jeanie like every other guy's in the world would be, so I just suck it up and plop down in the recliner near me.
Being second best sucks ass.
It really does.
XXXXXX
"You alright, boo?" Fred asks me far later on in the night, plopping himself down on the couch next to me. In his slightly drunken state, he doesn't realize how hard he actually sat and ends up spilling some of his drink onto my lap. But I am too far gone to care either, instead just giggling at his spillage and then scooting closer to him.
The guy sitting next to me, Thomas I think, has been attempting to flirt with me all night, telling me dumb stories about he's played soccer for two years and can balance a spoon on his nose. I haven't had anything other to do than listen, so I've just been sitting next to him for about thirty minutes, focusing on finishing my drink instead of listening to him.
Fred, thank God, has saved me though and I can't help but be ecstatic that I no longer have to listen to the guy. Nodding my head in response to his question, I reply, "Totally ace man! You? I haven't see you guys in forever actually. Like where did Jeanie go? And Jesse? Where's he?"
He threads his arm across my shoulders and pulls me into him, having to get closer to talk since the dub step music in here is so loud. His lips touch my ear, making me giggle slightly because it kind of tickles, and he says, "Well Jeanie and I got into a little spat so she's outside smoking with some girls. Jesse...well, last time I saw him he had his tongue shoved down some chick's throat."
"Oh," I pout slightly, hating that Jesse can find girls to make out with so easily while I just get stuck talking to soccer-playing douche bags who can balance spoons on their noses. But, he is like fifty thousand times more attractive than I am, so that's probably why. "Well that sucks grapes."
"Well I know what'll make you feel better," Fred sings into my ear, and before I know it he's removed himself from the couch, so quickly that I sway to the side because of the loss of support. But I don't fall over because he reaches out and steadies me before pulling me to my feet. Once I'm good and secure on the ground, he leads me into the den and then goes to the computer, quickly changing the song playing.
Soon enough I'm squealing because he's put on Sexy and I Know It, my favorite dance song ever, and am dancing along like a crazy person to the music. Fred and I playfully dance around throughout the song since we're the only people in the room, everyone else playing or watching beer pong in the kitchen or smoking outside. Throughout the whole song Fred and I jump around and laugh like we always do, fist pumping or me pushing him away when he playfully comes up to me and tries to grind against my hips.
See, this is what I love about going out and partying. I love the music, love the dancing, love that warm feeling in my belly from the alcohol and from the fact that cool people actually want to be around me. If I'd been sober, I bet Fred wouldn't have cared about me not having a fun time. It's just when I'm drunk.
By the time the next song is playing, we've been joined by half the people at the party; everyone is jumping around and drunkenly singing along. I even see Jesse come into the room, a pretty blonde girl's hand attached to his shoulder. When he catches my eye though, he gives me that devilishly sexy smile of his, making me feel even more warm inside. But I can't manage to give him one in return, because someone's grabbed my backside and started dancing against me.
Several drinks and dances later, I'm beyond loopy and ready to go to sleep, as well as Jeanie and Fred. Apparently the two of them made up during the Wobble, and they've barely unattached themselves from each other yet. But I don't care, because I've finally gotten to the drunken stage where the fact that Jesse's staying with that girl doesn't bother me just because I'm happy. Seriously, I'll look at the grass or something and just find myself smiling. It's fucking awesome. I'm never this happy.
"Let's goo," I sing out into the darkness of the night, Fred's arm once again slung around my shoulder to help me into the car. Jeanie's just been smoking all night, so she doesn't feel nearly as loopy and unsteady as I do, and judging from the laughter I hear from behind me, she's finding my intoxication extremely amusing. See? I'm funny when I'm drunk, not when I'm sober. "I wanna curl up against my pillow and sing it a lullaby," I look over at Fred's face and clarify, "Because they need to sleep to, you know? But yeah! I wanna go home and avoid my mom and go to sleep and just sleep and dream and be happy..."
"I love you, Hallie!" Jeanie manages to call out to me in the middle of her laughter, and I can't help but feel all warm and tingly when she says this. I love when people tell me they love me because I rarely ever hear it. My family definitely doesn't love me, like at all, and I've never had a boyfriend so I've never heard someone say it to me. I just feel so...so loved when people say it to me.
Feeling super content and happy with my life, I sigh and lean my head against Fred's tight shoulder as he finishes up the walk to the car.
"I love you," I tell him happily as he helps me into the backseat, and then shutting the door once I'm good and sprawled out on the backseat. It's just so comfy to lie back here...
Fred and Jeanie get into the car and the same time, and once the air conditioner is on and blasting I begin to realize just how hot it was in that house. I probably smell ridiculous and look equally as terrible. Awesome. Well, at least it was just Fred who had to put up with it.
The loud sound of Fred's favorite dub step music is blaring seconds later, and before I know it we're zooming down the highways. Jeanie and I are singing along to the words that we actually know, my words sounding all jumbled and meshed because my cheeks smashed against the fabric of the backseat. "Jeanie!" I yell out to her, and before long I hear her ask back, "Yes, Hallie honey?"
"What am I...did I kiss anyone tonight?" I love the nights where I actually get to kiss attractive people. Kissing is so much fun, it truly is. I'm sure it's even better when it's someone that actually likes the person they're kissing, but I've never been that lucky. All guys want to do with me is kiss me, try to get into my pants, and then disappear when I tell them that that's not going to happen.
She says, "No you didn't sweetie, but there was no one cute enough there for you to waste your time on."
I sigh to myself, but before I can say something else, a blinding white light has illuminated the interior of the car. I go to scream to Jeanie and ask her what it is, but I can't even get the words out because the next thing I see is complete and utter darkness.