Kissed

“You hate rum.” Casey said with a frown on her face, but Rooney really didn’t care about Casey’s frown or how much she hated rum, she just tipped the bottle a little higher as she watched the amber liquid mix with the coke in her glass.

She hated rum, and she hated parties like this one, and she hated that she had gone to the trouble of doing her hair, because what she hated most of all was that she did it all for a boy. She knew that Jeremiah’s friends were here and that it probably meant he would be here. She didn’t like sounding desperate, but she found herself very, very desperate.

He wouldn’t answer when she called, and when she texted it was always returned a day late with transparent excuses. His phone had suddenly died, he was in class, he was busy, he couldn’t talk now.

She wasn’t sorry for what she had said because she had meant it; but she hated that it had hurt him. She wished she didn’t care about it that much. She wished he didn’t care about it that much. She picked up random shots left behind by people who probably had mouth herpes. She was thinking too much. She needed to be drunk. Yesterday.

Having walked around the house twice she finally admitted to herself that he wasn’t here. She was hot and sweaty and drunk. She would find Casey and make her take her home. There were so many people and she was standing all alone and she felt like such a fucking loser.

Looking around she didn’t see Casey on the bottom floor, which could only mean that she had gone upstairs. Casey owed her, and if that meant pulling her away from whatever ass wipe that she was hooking up with so that Casey could take her home, then she was all for it. Pushing her way up the stairs past empty chip bags and people littering the stairs laughing too loudly, she started knocking on doors.

“Casey!” She screamed, but in reality it was a crude slurry mess that slipped out of her mouth. “Casey come on.” She pulled the word out like taffy. Slapping all four of the doors with her hands as she finally decided to open one, fuck the consequences.

Fuck the consequences indeed.

She stood in the open doorway for at least twelve seconds as she watched the couple glance up. The girl squealed an “Oh my God!” followed soon after by a much deeper “Fuck.”

“So you did come to the party.” Was what finally fell out of her mouth as she watched Jeremiah scramble to pull on his pants.

“Rooney!” She turned to see Casey emerging from the room across from her. “Was that you screaming out here, you are so fucking drunk.” She laughed. Rooney pulled the door shut and walked down stairs.

“I’m going home.”

“Rooney?” She’s drunk. She knows this as she pushes her way downstairs, and as she hears Jeremiah calling her name from upstairs. She’s drunk as she stumbles out of the door, and when she slaps into the car as she tugs at the door violently, shaking the car.

She’s shaking and the keys in her hand are so stupid. They keep jamming against the lock and she slams her hand against the window as a growl of frustration comes out of her mouth. Finally she remembers the unlock button on the FOB. Sliding into the driver’s seat she just sits there as the car idles.

“Rooney!”

Fuck.

He’s running across the yard towards her, and she jerkily shoves the car into reverse. She wants to go home, but the car isn’t fucking doing anything. The engine revs and then he’s standing by the car. She numbly realizes that the emergency brake is still on and she ignores Jeremiah’s “the fuck” as she whips out too fast.

“Rooney get the fuck out of the car.” He screams at her.

“Don’t talk to me.” She screams back, and she knows that the windows are rolled up and he can’t hear her, but this is just so fucked up. The car shakes as he yanks on the door handle, but at some point she must have locked the door so that’s good. She hits the gas so that she can get away from him, because if she can get away from him then maybe she’ll be able to think. As her head shoots forwards and slams into the steering wheel, she realizes that the car is still in reverse. Her foot finds the brake and her head is ricocheted back against the headrest.

She’s cradling her head, and now he’s yelling even louder and she just wants to be alone so she can cry over something. She hasn’t even decided why she wants to cry, but it feels like a good decision and Jesus fuck her head hurts. Her face is wet and thank God it’s not blood. She’s already crying, brilliant.

Crying is ugly. It’s hot and your nose gets all runny and there is no such thing as an aesthetically pleasing way to suck up snot. Your throat gets itchy and sore and it’s terrible. Jeremiah’s in front of the car, glaring at her and she rolls the window down.

“Go away.” She yells at him, but he doesn’t wait for her to finish because he’s by her door and then his arms are around her and she wants to tell him that he can’t just grab her. She wants to say that she can smell that bitch’s cheap ass Victoria’s Secret lotion on him, but those words fly out of her brain because he’s not embracing her. He’s dragging her out of the car through the window and it hurts. The edge of the window is digging into her side as he yanks her out and puts her on the asphalt.

She doesn’t even realize that it’s happened, but when she looks up he’s standing over her with her car keys in hand and the angriest look she’s ever seen on his face.

“Are you fucking kidding me Rooney?”

Wiping a hand under her nose, she pushes to her feet. The heels were a stupid idea. They’re at a stalemate, because there’s no way she’s going back inside, and it doesn’t look like he’s giving her keys back anytime soon.

“How could you be so stupid? Do you have any idea what could have happened? This was some stupid fucking shit.”

“Don’t call me stupid.” She said.

“Then don’t do stupid shit Rooney! I mean fuck’s sake.” He was yelling again.

“You’re right. This was dumb. This was so dumb. I am so stupid.” She was wiping at her face because she refused to cry. This was fucking embarrassing.

“Rooney,” He moved to touch her, hug her, hold her somehow, but she shook her head, arms crossed.

“No, don’t. Don’t touch me. You don’t get to. Not after. Not after you just fucked some girl upstairs. Because I am stupid. You know,” She pauses to unceremoniously suck snot up her nose, but she keeps going “I got dressed up and I actually did my hair for you. Like, who actually does their hair for a fucking house party? I’m so stupid because I had actually deluded myself into… Jesus. This is my fault.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Stop talking! Okay, just stop talking. Because I know that I said that I didn’t want to be exclusive, and I know that I said all of this shit, but you’re the ass hole. Okay, you are the bad guy here, not me. You don’t get to be such a – a cheese dick because I said I didn’t want to sleep with you! Okay, if all you wanted was to get into my pants, like if that was all that you ever thought we were then thank you.

I mean I get it. Like, I seriously do. We were just convenient for each other, but I had no idea that the second you realized my legs might be closed that you would run to high heaven for the closest bit of coochie you could find.”

“Rooney –“

“Fuck you.” She spat out. “Fuck you for making me actually like you, and making me buy you dumb knock-knock joke books, and for making me think that I was the problem.” She was crying again, but her head was aching. She was going to have a knot on her forehead. Gross.

“What do you want?” He asked.

“I want to go home, and I want you to just leave me alone.” She said pathetically. “I don’t like being drunk, and my head hurts, and you make me want to cry, and that’s not okay.” She sat down on the curb and hugged her knees, tucking her head into her chest.

“Jesus Rooney. Look at me. Rooney look at me.” He was touching her again, kneeling down so they were eye level; lifting her head up and staring at her. “I love that you did your hair for me.” Was what he finally said and it made her cry harder. “You are so drunk, and I can’t tell you half the things that I want to because I know that you probably won’t remember them in the morning; so I’m going to take you home and you’re going to sober up, but I don’t think I can leave you alone.”

“Stop being nice. Okay this isn’t a 90’s chick flick where I realize that you’ve had a heart of gold all along and I say ‘take me take me Johnny Depp.’ You don’t get to be nice.”

And she leaned over and puked on his shoes.