Worry Rock

"Hey, Sweetie," says Harvey, giving me a light kiss on the cheek.

"Hey," I reply to my boyfriend, taking his hand in mine.

"Um, is it okay with you if we take the bike? Mom caught me trying to take the car."

I laugh. "Okay then. Let's go."

So maybe I should fill you in on what's happening. My name is Carlie Spencer. I am sixteen years old; I have brown hair and brown eyes, and am 5'5. This is my boyfriend, Harvey. Seventeen, brown hair with blonde tips spiked up, brown eyes, 6'1. He's taking me to go eat tonight. At McDonald's. Down the street. Well, there's Harvey for you. So even though we could just walk, I climb onto the handles of his old, beat up bike, and we're off.

A couple minutes later, we arrive, and he drops his bike up front before we walk in. I get a chicken nugget happy meal... no, I don't eat much. He orders his food and we sit down at a table, talking and laughing together. I love Harvey. Love him, love him, love him. I mean it. Why else would my stomach be in constant knots around him? Why else would I feel like I'm floating every time he kisses me? I practically hear the wedding bells! I mean, sure, there are rumors that he's the cheating type, but I trust Harvey enough to believe they're not true. I mean, really. It's Harvey! The boy whose arm is so lovingly wrapped around me and can make me feel like a princess even though we're just sitting in a McDonald's.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

"Sure, baby." He gives me a kiss, and I get up to go to the bathroom. We're both done eating now, but we're just hanging out. Have been for an hour.

So anyways, I walk out of the bathroom and see -

Oh, no.

There's Harvey. My Harvey. Swapping spit with my friend, Hannah. Acquaintance, really. Now enemy. And she's kissing my boyfriend.

So I run. Out of the restaurant, all the way down the street and back to my house. My legs burn, but I don't care right now. I'm hurt way too much to care right now. I mean, really, the love of my life doesn't care enough to stay faithful to me! I'm not enough for him! Oh, my god.

Arriving at the empty house, I pick up the phone and dial a number.

"Hello?"

"Jake, I need you to come over," I manage to say through my tears.

"What's wrong?" I know he's concerned about me.

"Just come."

And so I hang up the phone. I stand there crying for a moment more before I run into the kitchen and grab a knife. Without hesitation, I make a huge slit on each of my wrists. On cue, they bleed profusely, but it feels so much better than this pain I'm feeling now. I sink to the floor, crying and cradling my hands. Maybe I'll get lucky. Maybe I'll die here. Right now. And then it'll all be over. It'll be over! Yes, I would love for it to be over.

"Carlie!" I hear. I look up groggily, my vision blurring. I see a figure running towards me, bending down close to me. Jake grabs my wrists, clamping down hard on them to stop the flow of blood. "Carlie, say something. What happened?"

He cares so much about me... I feel like a total jerk now for doing this. "I - I saw - he -" I couldn't find the words to speak.

"He cheated on you, didn't he?" I nod, letting out another sob. "Come on," he sighs, pulling my up while still holding my wrists. I stumble, but find I can stand on my own. He pulls me to the bathroom, where he finds Neosporin, gauze and bandages, which he uses to tightly wrap up my bleeding wrists. When he's done, he pulls me into a tight embrace, letting me cry into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I say.

"Shhhh." And so we just stand there. Me sobbing. Him letting me cry. Blood on both of our hands, so now our shirts as well.

Eventually, we just sit down there on the bathroom floor, and I continue to cry into his shirt.

I think I dozed off, because I woke a few minutes later to him pulling me up by my arm and leading me into my bedroom, where we sit down on my bed. He leans against the headboard, and I curl up against him to cry more.

I just can't believe it. The one time I decide to trust someone, this happens. Really, I have serious issues with getting close to people!

Except for Jake. He's been my friend since diapers. So only he is allowed to hold me while I cry. And hand me my inhaler when I feel like I can't breathe from crying so much. I mean, sure, he's Jakob Danger Armstrong, as in son of my role model, Billie Joe, but to me he's just Jake. My best friend since... forever.

"It's alright, Carlie. He was a man-whore anyways. And did you ever hear him laugh? He sounds like this." Then, Jake goes into this weird laugh full of he-hes and ha-has in a high-pitched tone.... which actually resembles Harvey very much. I can't suppress a laugh. Well, not a laugh, really. A laugh-sob. Yes, that's it. A laugh-sob. I don't feel better, though. Nothing can make me feel better. A few minutes of crying later, he says, "He's not good enough for you, anyways." I sob more. Yes, it's a complement, but I don't know... it makes me feel sad. I made a big mistake, and that's just not cool! I guess when I'm sad, I'm just really stubborn about being sad. I hope I'm not the only one.

***

It's morning. We must have fallen asleep. I still feel his arms around me, mine around him, his measured breathing. I know he's asleep. So I just lay there. I feel weird... kind of... empty. But safe. Like, as long as I have someone here to hold me when I'm sad, I'll get over it. I think of his jokes from last night and smile - they were sort of true. And then the complement. For some reason, it makes me upset all over again, and I cry a little more.

Jake wakes to find his still-wet shirt being filled with fresh tears. He strokes my hair, soothing, "Shh." I calm down sooner now, and so we sit there. This poor guy must be so bored. I mean, I have my own internal issues to sort out. But him? No, he has to sit and wait for me.

"Well, I'm hungry," he says, starting to get up.

"Don't go," I whine. Yeah, I'm feeling a little better.

"Don't worry, you're coming."

"No, I'm not. I'm staying here. I can't go out there yet."

"Yes you can. C'mon!" He pulled me up out of the bed, and I groaned, sitting up. My eyes feel cold, but that's because I was crying. I close them tightly, and he pulls me out of bed and leads me into the bathroom. "Half an hour and then I'm coming for you. I don't care if you're friggin half-dressed, I'm starving."

"Then go eat!"

"You're coming." And he closed the door. I groan, and in a few minutes, I'm in the shower. The warm water feels good on me, and I automatically feel a lot better. The wonders a good, warm shower can do.

Until it turns cold.

I scream and jump out, slipping and landing on the floor with a loud thump.

"Time's up!" I hear from downstairs. That bastard turned the hot water off on me!

I change my bandages on my wrists and get dressed in my faded jeans and my black t-shirt reading "Brain Dead 9 am - 5 pm Mon. - Fri." I'm putting on my black-and-white striped socks when he barges right on in. "Come on, Charlie, let's go!" Yeah. Did I mention he likes to call me Charlie? Everyone does. Except for when we're being serious. But that's usually not a lot, anyways. He grabs my arm and pulls me up.

"I don't have my shoes on!" I complain as he pulls me down the stairs.

"So?" I look out the window.

"It's pouring!"

"Yeah," he says, looking out. "Perfect day for walking around with your socks on."

"Jake!"

Too late. We're out. And running for the McDonald's down the street. Damn Jake!

We run into the restaurant, laughing and tracking water all over the floors. "Ew," I laugh. See, this is why you're not supposed to go into the rain with your socks on. I take them off, holding them in my hand and standing barefoot.

Jake laughs and orders for us. For me he gets a whopper (with only mayonnaise and ketchup) with a king-size pack of fries, and for him some chicken nuggets with king-size fries. We both get Coke. And he knows that "to go" would be best so we're not banned forever.

We walk out, him covering the bag of food with his jacket, and he starts walking off.

"Jake! I'm kinda stuck here!"

He laughs mockingly and comes over, bending down in front of me so that I can climb onto his back. I put my arms around his shoulders (If I choke him, then where's my ride home?) and my legs around his waist, and we set off. Good thing my house isn't too far, because he carried me all the way there and set me on the couch. "And what do we say?" he says, handing me my food.

I laugh. "Thank you, Jake," I say like a little kid whose mother is making her be polite.

"Good little Charlie. Now run along to the chocolate factory!"

"Not without my Oompla Loompa!" I give him a look suggesting that he's it.

"Hey, I'm only an inch shorter than you!"

"Yeah. Shortie. I have the high ground!" I always tell him that. Basically meaning that I'm taller and should win every time. Yes, I am such a dork.

"But I got the skills. You're going down."

"Yeah? Is that a challenge?"

"On the count of three. One... two... three!"

We both begin to shovel our king-sized pack of fries into our mouths, stuffing as many down our throats as possible. I'm struggling to swallow a particularly big mouthful, and he says, "Done!" I look. He is done. Wow.

Once I manage to swallow, I say, "No way. What, can you unhinge your jaw or something?"

"Yup. I haven't told you, but" He lowers his voice as if he's telling a secret...loudly. A loud whisper, if you can get that. "I'm actually a snake in disguise. Why do you think my name rhymes?"

"Okay, snake-boy." I have a pressure in my chest now from eating so fast. I rub it a little until it goes away. "Well, then I'm a hawk. Hawks eat snakes. So there."

"No, you're a bitch, remember?"

"Okay, I'm a dog then. But dogs kill snakes too!'

"Yes, but I think I have a better chance against a dog. They're pretty stupid."

"Are you saying I'm stupid?"

"No, I'm saying you're pretty stupid. Stupid but in a pretty kind of way."

I hit him playfully and take a bite off my burger before tossing it to him. I always eat only half of the burger and give the rest to him. It's just how we do things.

So we go on talking this way for a while. It's a typical conversation with Jake. He has this ability to make me happy whenever.

Except when my sore wrists remind me of my cheating ex-boyfriend.

He must see the look on my face, because he says, "That guy's a jerk. Forget him."

I suddenly feel nauseous.

Within seconds, I'm kneeling on the cool bathroom tile, leaning my arms on the seat and hanging my head over the bowl. I'm about to spew when Jake runs in and grabs my hair, pulling it out of the way in time. When I'm done, I cough a little, and he brings me a cool towel to wipe my mouth off. He pulls me up and brings me back to the couch. "Come on, lady anorexia." Actually, if I didn't have Jake, I would be anorexic, or at least pretty near it, even though everyone tells me I'm a stick. He can get me to eat. I guess that's what I get for refusing to take my depression pills. But it's better having a friend.

"It's bulimia when people throw up their food, dingo."

"You would know."

I take a deep breath. I don't feel like arguing.

"Well, you should change your clothes or something. We're going to band practice." Yeah. We're in a band. Called Worry Rock. Well, actually, I'm not in it yet. But Harvey was their lead guitarist. Obviously, he's out now. And I already know I'm the runner-up.

I groan. "Do I have to? I'd rather be miserable in peace right now."

"But if you're in peace, you'll be more miserable. So five minutes. Go."

"Yes, Daddy." I go upstairs and change my clothes, this time wearing a baggy pair of jeans, which I cut down to be shorts and a red tank top. I put my wet hair into a pony-tail and decided a pair of those rubber flip flop shoes would be best on this fine, wet day.

"Time's up!"

"I'm coming! Geeze."

"Yeah, let's go." He's standing by the door with an umbrella in hand, waiting.

"Oh, so now you get an umbrella."

"Yup."

Ugh.

"Where are your keys?"

Yes, he said my keys. They're my dad's keys. He carpools to work. So every day, we just 'borrow' his car to drive on down to band practice at the band-house. A lot of times, we keep it there and fall asleep on Boom's couch.

Okay, so five minutes later (he's only a couple streets over.) we're walking into the band-house. It's really Boom's house, but half the band members live there anyways. The downstairs is a three bedroom house with the living room, kitchen, etc. But upstairs is the band floor. It's the floor where all the walls were taken down (except for the ones to one of the bathrooms) to make room for a bunch of junk. There are three different colour carpets and on area of tile there, for this house had had two upstairs bathrooms. We keep all of our instruments up there, including some extra amps and guitars and stuff. We have a lot. Because every member of the band always donates something. And if you get kicked out, then you lose your stuff. Because once an instrument is part of the band, that's it. It will always be a part of the band, even when you leave. Even if Boom somehow couldn't be in the band anymore, everything would still belong to the band. The room even has two couches, a mini-fridge, a microwave, a stereo, a pile of CDs, a dart board, and a lot of everybody's clothes. Obviously, this is where we are most of the time. I mean, really, what else is there for us? Besides TV, but we go downstairs for that.

Oh, no....

Harvey. He's standing there arguing loudly with Boom, the rhythm guitarist and lead singer. And now he's turning to look at Jake and me.

Great.