To Hell With Your New Shit

“Where are you taking me?” I asked Garrett suspiciously as he led me out to his obnoxious yellow car.

“That, my dear, is for me to know and for you to find out,” he teased, opening the passenger door for me. I stopped in front of him, narrowing my eyes. An hour earlier, he’d pried me off the couch with instructions to shower and exchange my sweatpants and Star Wars t-shirt for something to be seen by the public eye. “Just get in the car, Linds.”

“I don’t like this, Garrett,” I told him apprehensively as I slid into the seat. “I don’t like this one bit.”

He simply shot me a cheeky smile and shut my door before rounding the front of the car and hopping in front of the steering wheel.

“I really, really don’t like this,” I confirmed as he pulled out of the driveway, the same smug grin still plastered on his face.

“Trust, you’re going to love me when all is said and done,” he assured me. “Just promise you won’t punch me before the fact.”

I crossed my arms and eyed Garrett suspiciously as he navigated his way through town. I sat forward in my seat and peered out the window as the car began to slow down as we passed cars that were parked on either sides of a residential street.

“Garrett…” I began warily as the unmistakable feelings of nausea and regret began churning uneasily in my stomach.

“Come on, Lindsay,” he said as he parked his car behind a forest green Jeep. “You need this, it’ll be good for you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked, confused, before I spotted a certain worn out, white truck parked not too far down the street.

Garrett grimaced once he realized I had noticed John’s truck.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered. Garrett hopped out of his seat as quickly as he could and rushed to my door.

“Get out!” he urged, reaching his hand towards the door to open it. Before he could yank the door open, though, I locked it. Rolling his eyes, Garrett pulled the keys out of his pocket and clicked the ‘unlock’ button, reaching for the handle another time. Once again, I pushed down the lock on the door and glared at him through the window.

“Are we seriously going to play this game right now?” Garrett questioned, raising his voice just enough so I could hear him through the closed window. I didn’t respond, but merely crossed my arms once more and stared through the windshield. When I wasn’t paying attention, Garrett unlocked the door and swiftly pulled it open.

“I’m not going inside,” I told him right away.

“Shall I bring the party to you, then?” he asked. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was beginning to get annoyed with me, but as far as I was concerned, he deserved to be as annoyed as possible.

“That won’t be necessary,” I told him calmly, “because I am going to leave just as soon as you get out of my way.”

“Well it looks like you’re stuck here, then, because I sure as hell am not moving until you agree to come inside with me,” he countered. When I stayed silent for a few minutes, he sighed and squatted on the curb next to me, bringing himself to my eye level.

“Look, Lindsay,” he began, taking on his lecture voice, “I get it. I know you don’t want to talk to John or even see him right now, but you have to. Everything you told me, back at your house… That’s more than enough reason for you to march right into that house and tell John that you love him.”

“Okay, Dr. Phil,” I muttered sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

“I’m serious, Lindsay!” he exclaimed. “Why are you being so difficult? You love John, and John loves you. It’s as simple as – “

“John does not love me,” I told him with a dark laugh.

“Oh yeah?” Garrett challenged, looking me in the eyes. “Prove it.”

“He hates me,” I explained.

“Hatred is the very last thing that John feels towards you, Lindsay. You haven’t been here the past three years. You weren’t here to see him fall apart and become a recluse for weeks on end.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” I muttered. “John’s heartbroken and it’s all my fault. But now he hates me, and he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Dammit, Lindsay, how many times do I have to tell you that he does not hate you? He keeps trying to talk to you and you push him away! I’m not here to hurt you, Lindsay, only to help you,” he said, his voice softening as he finished.

I stared at Garrett, wide-eyed and frightened. I felt as though I could vomit at any moment; the thought of confronting John made me so nervous.

“I can’t do it,” I whispered shakily.

“Yes, you can,” he assured me, gripping my hand comfortingly.

“I want to believe it, Garrett,” I choked out through silent sobs. “I want him to love me more than anything, but what if he doesn’t?”

“He does.”

“But if I go in there, and I tell him everything that’s been hurting me for the past three years, and he doesn’t care, what am I going to do?”

I was all but convulsing with nerves at this point, my hands trembling so badly that I feared I might have a heart attack.

“Come on, Lindsay,” Garrett said, holding his hand out to me. “Everything is going to be perfect.”

I grasped his outstretched hand and he pulled me up out of the car. I couldn’t bring myself to let go of him as we made our way up the driveway, me stumbling with every cautious step that I took. As we made it to the door, I halted.

“I can’t do it, Garrett,” I whispered. “I’m going to be sick.”

“You’re going to be fine,” he promised, gripping my shoulders and looking at me with a soft expression. “Take deep breaths, and you’ll be fine.”

He gave me one, last reassuring smile before he pulled the front door open and led me inside. We wound our way through countless people until we stumbled upon the kitchen.

“I need a drink,” I muttered to Garrett, and he smiled reassuringly at me before reaching for a handle of vodka and a plastic cup.

In the other room, the blaring music died down and I heard a few chords being strummed, as if someone was tuning a guitar.

“Here,” Garrett said, handing me a cup and pushing me into the room with the apparent live music.

“This is sort of last minute, and not a usual occurrence, so I hope no one minds,” I heard his voice call out over the chatter of people in the room. As soon as I was in the doorway, I looked up to see John sitting atop the back of a couch, acoustic guitar in hand.

“Oh my god,” I mumbled under my breath, abandoning Garrett to slink, unseen, into a corner of the room. The voices in the room quieted as John began playing, and everyone watched attentively as he sang.

It had been so long since I’d last heard John sing, and it would have been a gross understatement to say he’d improved. I felt tears well in my eyes as he sang delicately about a girl who ran away, a girl who, as much as I hated to admit, was me. He kept his eyes closed as he sang, moving his head back and forth to the rhythm.

“And every day, in every way, oh she will look the same. And every care you used to have just seems to float away,” he sang gently, opening his eyes and looking around the room, his gaze finally landing on me, burning intensely, before he continued. “To hell with your new shit, and whether or not you think you fit in.”

I swallowed the lump that had so unfortunately formed in my throat, and blinked as I failed to stop tears from falling down my cheeks. Before John finished his song, I pushed my way back to the kitchen, refilling my cup that I had previously emptied so quickly. From my spot leaning against the counter, chugging the contents of my cup, I heard the song end and the occupants of the house cheer appreciatively as John mustered a round of thanks. I emptied my cup and filled it for a third time, knowing very well that I would never be able to confront him while entirely sober.

It was kind of sad, I thought to myself, that I couldn’t even bring myself to talk to the man I loved without the reassuring flow of alcohol in my body.

“Lindsay!” I heard Pat’s voice over the sound of the rekindled party music. “There you are!”
I turned to face the energetic boy, and offered a weak smile.

“Hey, Pat.”

“Don’t waste your time talking to me!” he chided with a grin. “Go get your man!”

I grimaced at Pat before he gave me a light shove in the direction of the room I had previously exited. The red plastic cup shook in my hands as I trembled, making my way to the doorway.

“You can do it, Lindsay,” I encouraged myself silently, though I had absolutely no clue what I was going to say.

My eyes scanned the crowded room, past the dancing couples and sloshing drinks, to John’s impossibly tall frame hovering by the front window. I sucked in a deep breath, pushing myself to take that first, timid step, when I realized that he was not alone.

To my delight, the girl who stood in front of him, her height barely reaching the middle of his chest, was not a certain Molly Warner. But to my utter and complete dismay, the short, brown-haired girl reached up and brought John’s lips crashing onto hers.