Destined to Explode

It's quiet in Alex’s house - Rian had gone to see his parents the night before, he ending up staying the night because of the sudden downfall of rain that had lasted long into the morning and with a few glasses of wine in his system, he was worried about how much further the wet roads would impair his driving. 
 
I had been staying over whether he was there or not, Alex and I finally going on what could be called a proper date.
An awful horror movie followed by a quick stop in at a Subway before we drove back to his house to share a few beers while watching a couple of re-runs of Pawn Stars and then somewhat early to bed.
 The only difference with Rian being gone is that the bed was used for more than sleeping a few times, without being crude.

Alex wakes me about ten the next morning, hand stroking up and down my bare back as I lay on my stomach, a sheet barely pulled to my waist after last night.

“We should probably get ready to meet Jack.” Alex speaks quietly, his voice barely breaking the peace in the house where even the dogs are silent.

“We don't need to meet him until one.” I hum, perfectly content in just spending the whole day here and not going to meet my hyperactive cousin so we could get things for the party later in the day.

“We both have to shower.”

“That doesn’t take three hours.” I giggle, shaking my head, eyes still closed, “I’m going back to sleep.”

It’s silent for another couple of minutes, the only sounds being both our breathing and the slight scuffle of sheets as Alex moves around some more.

“I love it when you’re like this.” Alex states and I blink my eyes open to raise my eyebrows at him slightly.

“Nude, in your bed?”

He laughs, holding onto his stomach as he rolls onto his back, taking a few moments to breath before he turns onto his side again, “Well, that too, but I meant, when you’re a little more care free.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“Well, yeah, but like, you’re more careful with what you say now. It’s like your scared someone’s going to react badly when you make a joke.”

“Not everyone appreciates our type of humour.” I smirk, “Especially Illinoisan people, apparently. I don’t know how Marky hasn’t been thrown out of state for his jokes.”

“You excited to be going to work in New York, then?”

“Yeah, I like it there, and Marky lives really close to the offices and shop so I won’t be getting stuck in traffic all the time.”

“You’re taking your car? I thought you were flying over with us.”

“I am.” I smile, “Marky has an old Citroen he’s letting me use.”

“Another crappy car to add to your list.”

“Bite me, blondie.”

------

”Jack, do we really need decorations?” I raise my eyebrows as he starts striding towards the other side of the store now that our trolley was filled with the clinking bottles of so many different varieties of alcohol, including my new favourite drink; Peach Schnapps - which Jack had already called a ‘pansy’ drink and been dared to drink a pint of it straight.

That was going to a sight to see.

“What kind of party doesn’t have decorations?” Jack retorts, turning round so he ends up slamming into the end of the cart.

“Most that occur after you’re age five.” Alex laughs, having joined us after the lunch we had, even though he’d say he couldn’t because of other errands, “Are you honestly going to buy decorations?”

“Yep. I want streamers!”

“And are you going to be the one who cleans it everything up?” I smirk as he looks over some party poppers, whose contents, if bought, would probably end up mashed into our carpets.

“If I’m allowed balloons.”

Dealing with Jack was honestly, like dealing with a child. To get something done you had to give him something in return, and if getting out of the store before it closed meant letting him have balloons, then, he could have the balloons.
Even if it does take another half an hour for Jack to finally decide what he wants, apparently spoilt for choice in the party section, we do make it back to our house in time to set up, which for me meant displaying all the alcohol, putting out the red cups we’d bought and filling a few bowls with Goldfish crackers and Cheetos.

Jack gives up trying to blow up the balloons he bought and they end up filled with water and in a bucket on our back porch, ready for the water fight he was apparently going to start, not that he would remember when he had alcohol running through his system, alongside the multitude of fireworks he’d gotten the day before.

People start arriving around six, their own bottles or cans in hand as they walk in the open door and while the majority of people are those we saw at New Years, there’s a few who’ve turned up that I haven’t seen since the boys graduated, so my first hour and a half is spent catching up with them, explaining where I’d been, the (altered) reason why I’d come back and squishing down rumours about things that had apparently happened in High School.

“Someone’s Miss Popular tonight.” Alex smiles as I step into the small kitchen, he leant against the counter as he sips of a beer, “I’ve hardly seen you.”

“You could come and talk, you know? Instead of being a hermit in my kitchen.” I hip check him as I grab the vodka from behind him too add my half cup of coke, “People are going to think you‘re avoiding them.”

“I am.”

I roll my eyes before I turn to leave, “You best get your ass in that lounge, or I’ll have your balls on a plate.”

“Kinky.”

I ignore the sarcastic remark, knowing he’ll follow me anyway, there’s enough alcohol in his system now, judging by the slight slur in his voice and the colour on his cheeks so socialising with everyone won’t be a task.
I join Zack by the ‘DJ’ area which was basically Jack and I’s Macs, hooked up to the surround sound and every now and again people would switch around and take over choosing the song from our libraries.

“You being a stubborn git as well, Zack?” I joke as I perch on the table, “You’ve been over here a while.”

“Just having some fun. Exploring all the weird songs you have.”

“Hey now, there’s some classics on that thing.”

“Oh yeah, the songs from Charlie the Unicorn are definitely classic.” Zack laughs, “Fancy coming out for a smoke?”

“You know I don’t smoke anymore, Merrick, stop trying to corrupt me.”

That was one of the many things Zack and I had shared an interest in when we were teenagers; nicotine. We didn’t smoke constantly, just on occasion, something we called ‘social smoking’ because usually the only time you’d catch us with a cigarette was at parties or after the odd show they played. I’d certainly never felt a huge pull to the addicting drug, not enough that I craved them everyday, and Zack neither, even if he did carry on (apparently until this day) after I’d stopped.

“At least come outside with me?”

“Just as long as I get too stand downwind.”

With jackets donned, Zack and I venture onto the front porch, he sparking up almost immediately as I hold his drink, he taking it back once he’s taken a deep drag and exhaled again.

“Sure you don’t want one?”

“Pretty damn sure.” I snort, “I started up again in Chicago and it made me feel so ill.”

“Forgot you stopped back in school, because Alex didn’t like girls who smoked.” Zack mocks, earning a shove from me as I poke my tongue out at him.

“And my Mom, let’s not forget her!”

Zack and I still laughing when Eva, Evan’s girlfriend opens the front door, teeth worrying her lower lip, “You two might want to come inside.”

We share a look and Zack quickly stubs the cig out on the rail, flicking the end away and shuffles in after me. The music’s still playing oudly, people are still talking and dancing in the middle of the lounge, but Eva gestures us over the kitchen, where it looks like hell has broken loose.

There’s a few smashed glasses on the floor, Alex is sat on one of the dining chairs, Matt’s hand on his shoulder and Evan standing rigid on his other side, while Jack seems to have sobered and is handing wads of kitchen paper to Jordan White so he can mop up the blood streaming from his nose.

“Ok, so-.”

“Alex punched Jordan.” Jack explains immediately, smirking in his direction and Alex just continues to sit and flex his knuckles while looking at the floor.

“Why?”

“I don't-.” Jordan starts.

“I did not appreciate how he was talking about you.”

I don’t even bother to question in what sort of way he was talking about me, or even why I was a topic in the first place, instead grabbing the home phone and handing it too Zack, “Call Jordan a cab home.” I sigh, ducking to get the first aid kit we’d been given my Jack’s Mom, passing it too Matt, who knows how to deal with that kind of thing, “I think I’m going to need that smoke by the end of tonight.”