"Let's get drunk and tell each other everything we're too afraid to say sober."
"Okay, is it... a car?" Fisher guesses loudly and I shake my head furiously, scribbling more lines onto my sheet of paper. "Right, eh, a boat? Tractor? Car? Is it a car? Car?"
"It's not a fucking car!" I screech, throwing my pen down just as our time runs out. "It's a bike! A bike!"
"How is that a bike?" Fisher shouts and I huff loudly.
"Those are the handlebars and there're the pedals and, actually, y'know what? Forget it, you suck at guessing."
"And you suck at drawing," Fisher counters and I hold up my hands.
"We both know that's not true," I begin saying but mom cuts me off.
"Guys, stop arguing," she says. Most people would worry if their parents used this tone of voice on them, but we know what's really on mom's mind. "It's my turn." She stands and starts drawing on the paper as Fisher and I continue quietly bickering between us.
"At least mine looked like a vehicle, yours looked like monkey on steroids."
"That's because mine was a bear, see, at least mine looked like an animal," Fisher hisses and I roll my eyes. Dad shouts out his guesses and when he says 'fireman', mom jumps and screams loudly, raising her hands in victory.
"Yes! We are the rulers of this game!" she squeals, running over and kissing dad. We all groan and laugh but it's nothing new. They always win. Years of practise, dad likes to tell us.
"Okay, time for pizza?" Jacob asks eagerly and I hop up from my seat.
"Sure thing, little brother," I say, ruffling his light hair as I walk past him. He complains and rushes to fix it. He's fourteen, the age where his phone is permanently attached to his hand and his best friend is a tub of hair gel. Scary, really. I enter the kitchen and lift the house phone from its holder. I'm about the dial the number to the pizza place, but a knock on the door halts me.
"Did you guys buzz someone in?" I shout through to my parents and I hear mum cough.
"Oh yeah, I did!" she says. "Would you get it?" I sigh and walk to open the door. I hate when mom has a client or someone over on game night, because then I can't beat Fisher's ass without mom lecturing us. I unlock the door and swing it inwards, barely looking up to see who it is.
"My mom'll be out in a sec," I begin to say, but the shoes I'm looking at make me groan. They're not the shoes of some business person, oh no, they're scruffy and laced and awfully familiar. "What are you doing here?"
"You invited me," Cameron says with a grin, slipping through the doorway and into the hall. As he passes me he drops a light kiss on my cheek, to which I slap his arm. I can't deny though that it makes me blush. He slides off his signature scuffed Converse and dumps them by the coat rack.
"No," I say, laying a hand on his arm. "I didn't, not officially."
"Everything between us is official now," he reminds me and I sigh.
"Yeah, you're right. Look, I'm about to order pizza, what d'you want?"
"What pizza do I want?"
"Yes, as in, what toppings?" I say to clear up any confusion.
"Pepperoni and mushroom," he says and I nod.
"Well, everyone's through in the living room, feel free to go and say hi."
"I will," he grins with a nod and he turns to leave me. I'm about to go back to the phone when he clears his throat. "Oh and, Scarlett?"
"Hm?"
"You look gorgeous." I glance down at my clothes and I realize I'm wearing a pair of dirty sweatpants and a Green Day shirt. I scoff and raise my middle finger at him, but he just shakes his head fondly, a smile on his face, and walks away.
*
The night goes unexpectedly well. We play Scrabble in teams and mom and dad win (again), we eat pizza and Jacob tells Cameron that it's weird he has mushroom on his, which sparks a lengthy debate over whether mushrooms should be a pizza topping. I voted yes. We watch a movie - Lord of the Rings (the first one) - and we tell jokes and it's all very pleasant. Of course, Cameron is a natural born charmer, so winning over my family isn't really an issue. Since they already know him anyway, the awkward introductions aren't needed. This is the first time, however, that he's known as my boyfriend. I'm a little worried, but Cameron pushes past it with ease. My family seem convinced, which I didn't think they would be, so I feel we're basically in the clear. We're a couple - people believe it.
Of course, there is one person who can see straight through my lies instantly.
"Who are you trying to fuck over here and why does it include pretending to date Mr I-swear-I-don't-shape-my-eyebrows?" Fisher asks me when I'm sitting in my room alone later that night, after family night is finished and Cameron has gone home.
"Firstly, I seriously don't know what you're talking about," I lie. "And secondly, right? I mean does he really think people don't notice how perfectly arched they are?"
"Scar, cut the crap," Fisher says, shutting the door behind him as he properly enters my room, flopping onto the beanbag by the wall. "We can basically read each other's minds, how did you think I wouldn't notice?"
"I was using the hope and pray method," I mumble, pressing my face into a pillow. I sigh. "Okay, look, this really isn't something you can tell anyone."
"Yeah, yeah, or you'll murder me in my sleep, I know the drill," he waves off. "Tell me." So I do and when I'm finished he rolls his eyes.
"You really are great at getting yourself caught up in the stupidest shit, Scar."
"Tell me about it."
*
Cameron texts me on Saturday morning asking if I want to go over to his for the day. I say yes. The thing is, we've been hanging out a lot recently, but not even in the public eye. At around ten I shower and change. The weather's been nicer after the intense rain which wrecked my car. I still blame Fisher.
I dress in a monochrome Jack Daniels wife beater with a vertical-striped blazer in black and white, the sleeves rolled to my elbows. I pull on a pair of black ripped jean shorts and some black spike-heeled boots, grab my black Prada tote, then jump into my car, beginning my drive to Cameron's. I leave the roof down, sunglasses set before my eyes so I'm not blinded by the glare of the cars in front of me.
I make my way to Cameron's house - not the apartment this time - and press the buzzer on the gate. One of the workers lets me through.
"Bonjour, my boyfriend who's not really my boyfriend," I shrill as I walk through the door, kissing him on the cheek.
"Ew, it's you," he jibes back and I roll my eyes at him. I pause, sniffing the air.
"Is that food?"
"Maybe," he says after a beat.
"And when I say food, I mean Pop-Tarts?" I say, my voice getting louder and he looks worried.
"Scar, they're mine," he warns and I giggle playfully, darting past him into the kitchen. His parents are out, so I don't have to keep my voice down, really.
"Yes!" I cry as I see the rectangles sitting on a plate, warm. I lift one of them up and cram it into my mouth. "Oh my god," I mumble through a mouthful of sugary pastry. "So good!"
"Scar, what do you think you're doing?" Cameron asks and I turn to face him, a sheepish grin on my face. I swallow the food and place a hand on my hip.
"Having breakfast, duh."
"You really like food, don't you?"
"I really do," I admit. "One of the many things I'm obsessed with."
"Oh yeah? And what are the others?"
"Money, fame, parties, Leonardo DiCaprio, sex, the list is endless, really."
"What was that last one?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, a sly smirk on his face. He's flirting. And although we're technically a couple, he's technically also dating Daisy. And flirting is technically cheating.
And I hate that I don't stop him.
"Oh, you know," I say, twirling a lock of blonde hair between my fingers. "I just really love his movies."
"I meant the one after that," he presses and I quirk an eyebrow at him.
"Wow, pushy," I say. "What, in our day and age is it really surprising to hear that a girl enjoys sex?"
"It's surprising to hear it coming from you," he says, tilting his head to the side. "Confusing." I roll my eyes.
"I think we need to establish something," I tell him, pressing my hands against his chest. "I am a deeply confusing human being and the sooner you accept that and stop trying to figure me out or whatever, the better."
"But figuring you out is the best bit," Cameron says and I blink.
"What have you discovered so far?" I ask, taking a seat at the table. "Please, enlighten me."
"You have impeccable music taste, for starters," he tells me. "Every time I'm at your house and you're dressed down, you wear band shirts, and not like those fake girls who wear a Rolling Stones shirt but would probably have no clue who Brian Jones is, which is pretty amazing because that's so rare to find these days. Y'know, a girl who isn't obsessed with mass-produced, tacky pop music."
"My dad's a musician, what do you expect?" I ask, almost irritably. I don't know why, but his observations are annoying. Why must he feel the need to question and analyse everything I do?
"You also have a great eye for art," he tells me, pulling out the seat next to me, sitting down in it. He rests his elbows comfortably on his knees, his back bent at an acute angle. "Like in your room, the pieces you have on your walls are all really, really great. Like, right now, name your favourite artist."
"Leonid Afremov," I shrug and Cameron grins.
"I have no idea who that is," he says and I smile a little.
"He's good, I can assure you that much."
"Of course he is, he wouldn't be your favourite if he was crap."
"So," I say, crossing my arms loosely. "You know that my music taste isn't awful, along with my taste in art. That's a tiny portion of my personality."
"Fill me in on the rest then," Cameron says and I search his face for any signs that he's playing with me. But I can't find any. He seems completely and utterly dedicated to finding out more about me, which is nice I guess.
"Like what?" I ask.
"Everything," he says. "Anything. I don't know, tell me about your life, people you know, knew, things you want to do."
"I'm not good at this," I blurt and I grit my teeth after my spill of words. Good one, Scarlett.
"The mask you're trying to hide behind is falling, Scar," Cameron says quietly. "You don't need it."
"How else can I protect myself?" I ask. "I've seen what this lifestyle does to people like me; people like us. It gently bites away, bit by bit, until you're not a real person anymore. I don't want that to happen, ever. People only want in if they think they're going to get something in return, so the best way to prevent that is to shut them out completely."
"That doesn't sound happy," he says, biting on the inside of his lip.
"I think you need to understand that I'm not necessarily a very happy person." He blinks.
"What happened to make you like this?" he asks gently. "When we were little you were always up for a joke, a laugh. But as soon as we got older you built this wall that I have to constantly try and get around."
"People tried to be in my life because of what I have. They wanted the fame and my money and that was it. Once I'd paid for enough lunches and they'd been in the newspapers a couple of times, I was dropped like hot shit. I'm over it."
"You don't sound over it-"
"I'm fucking over it!" I shout abruptly and I clamp my mouth shut before I can say anything else.
"You know, this is probably the most you've ever opened up for me," Cameron says and I allow a condescending smirk to creep onto my lips.
"Don't flatter yourself now, Cammy," I say flippantly. "I open up to plenty of people, I usually just get laid afterwards."
"Is that so?" he retorts and I lick my lips gently.
"I could rock your world, Cameron Daniels, don't even try and deny it." He doesn't reply, just chuckles.
"Riddle me this," he says. "Is it completely terrible that I've been dating a girl for five months, having very regular sex, yet over the past little while I've found I have no desire to sleep with her?"
"That's a little weird, yes," I nod. "You don't want to have sex with Daisy?"
"Not one bit," he says. "She's lovely but, god, it's started to feel like kissing my little sister."
"Dude, gross," I laugh. "No but seriously, why are you constantly worrying that this stuff between us is going to make things between you two end if you don't like her in that way?"
"I have no clue," he says, rubbing his hands over his face tiredly. "It's extremely difficult to explain."
"Well we have plenty of time," I say. I stand up and walk to the fridge, swinging open the door. "Oh and yep, there's plenty of beers too, so I'd say we've got a pretty good day lined up for us, Cammy dear."
*
I arrange myself on the couch, an array of alcoholic beverages spread out on the table in front of me. Cameron sits opposite, on the other side of the table. We take a beer each and start drinking. I like alcohol - I'm not going to deny that. It tastes like shit most of the time, but I enjoy being drunk and I enjoy not having to do anything the next day because I'm hungover.
"What's the point in this?" Cameron asks when he's downed one can of beer.
"We are far too uptight, Cammy," I say, swigging the last of the liquid in my can, dumping the empty on the table. "So we're going to get drunk and make awful decisions together. Share some deep, dark secrets. It'll be great."
"This sounds like a bad idea, but fuck it," he shrugs, lifting another beer and drinking it quickly. I follow suit and we drink until we lose count and my brain feels pretty fuzzy. It's three in the afternoon.
"Daisy isn't the girl I'm going to marry," Cameron says, his voice slurred slightly from the alcohol. "I know that, so I don't know why I'm with her."
"D'you not even like her or anything?" I reply, my voice dripping much like Cameron's.
"She's okay," he shrugs. "But, I like, I think I just, like, like her because she's hot."
"She is pretty hot," I agree with a nod and hiccup.
"But that's the only reason," Cameron declares, standing up. He wobbles a few times and once he's regained his posture, he stumbles around the table to me, knocking a few empty beer cans onto the carpet. He collapses onto the sofa beside me and grabs another drink. "It's not gonna last, me and Daisy."
"How'd you know?" I ask, tilting my head, although it probably just looks like my head is too heavy for my head, because I guess that's pretty much right.
"We both want diff-rent things," Cameron slurs.
"Like?"
"She wants the security of us, I want someone to talk to and have sex with whenever I want."
"You don't need a rela-re-relationon-relationship, wow that's a hard word isn't it? Anyway, you don't need one to have someone to talk to and sleep with."
"Makes it easier though," he says. "Less effort."
"Seduce me," I say with a laugh and Cameron's eyebrows knot together.
"What?"
"I just wanna see what you're like when you try and hit on girls," I shrug. "Seduce me." He seems to debate something in his head before grinning.
"I'm not drunk enough for that yet, sweetheart."
"Well then get drinking," I say, tipping his drink into his mouth. "I didn't come here expecting a civil conversation."
"What did you expect?" he asks, cocking his head to the side with a smug expression.
"I didn't come here wanting to jump your bones, you pervert."
"Is there something wrong with you?" he teases. "Who wouldn't want some of this?"
"You're gross," I laugh, swatting his arm. Well, I try to hit his arm, but I guess in my drunken state I misjudge my balance and when my arm swings forward, so do I. I land in a heap on the ground and I roll onto my back, laughing. Cameron stands up and sways a little, before helping me to stand up. We stand in each other's arms for a while as we attempt to sober up enough to walk around and I look up at Cameron's face, which is the only thing that's not spinning right now.
"What?" he asks me and I tilt my head.
"You're very pretty," I observe and he laughs.
"Thank you," he says. "So're you."
"Is that the drink talking?"
"Definitely," he grins.
"C'mon," I say, taking his sleeve in my hand and tugging him towards the kitchen.
"What are we doing now?" he asks and I look over my shoulder.
"Shots," I say simply. Somehow, we manage to fish out two shot glasses, some bottle of random alcohol and sit down at the table in the kitchen. We both take one for starters, then I decide to play a game.
"Okay, so the rules," I say. "I'm going to guess something about you that I think is true and if it's not, you take a shot."
"Go for it."
"I bet you watch lesbian porn," I say with a sly wink. Cameron lifts his glass and swigs down his shot.
"Porn is gross," he says. "Why would I need to watch it if I can have the real thing?"
"Watch out, your asshole might get jealous because of all the shit coming from your mouth."
"I love when you talk dirty to me," he grins and I scoff drunkenly.
"Okay, your turn."
"Hm," he thinks. "I bet you've never hooked up with a girl." I grin and lift the glass to my lips, as Cameron looks on at me with wide eyes. I down my drink, the liquid burning my throat.
"Seriously?" he asks.
"A while ago I was at a party and yeah, we both got really drunk. I hardly knew her but we'd talked a few times and at the party we ended up in a room together and yeah. It was fine."
"That's kind of hot," Cameron acknowledges and I laugh loudly.
"I bet you'd want in on that."
"A threesome honestly doesn't sound that great to me."
"I thought that was, like, every guys fantasy?"
"Just seems like someone would end up being left out?"
"I guess," I shrug. "Okay, my turn. I bet you're really turned on right now." Cameron doesn't take a drink and I smirk. "Knew it."
"My turn," he says with a subtle grin and a teasing face. "I bet you want to have sex with me right now."
And I don't lift my glass.
Something in my polluted and foggy brain stops me from taking the shot, purely because I agree with what Cameron has said. Apparently, I want to have sex with him. I have half a mind to pick up my shot and take it just to clear any awkwardness that might start, but my slight hesitation seems to be enough.
"I have a girlfriend, Scar," he says.
"I know."
"It's probably a good thing I don't like her enough, though." In my drunken state it takes me a while to figure out what he means by this and in that time, it gives Cameron just enough time to make his way around the table and kiss me roughly on the lips. And we're both really drunk so it's sloppy and not that great but I don't really care enough to stop. His hands find their way to my hips and he lifts me up onto the table. My hands knot his hair and our breathing turns ragged. Someone removes the other's shirt, then pants, until we're full blown making out on his kitchen table. In our underwear.
I can tell this is a bad idea, but I'm not in any rush to stop it.
I guess we can just regret it in the morning.