Pretend

I watched as she walked away, and what little trace of a smile I had left completely disintegrated. She laughed, her beautiful hair cascading down her back, her golden skin illuminated by the sun. And I realized in that moment, with Marcus Lordie's predatory grin mocking me, that Cora would never look at me like she looks at Marcus. She would never blush for me. She would never feel her heart stop in my presence. She definitely wouldn't ever kiss me. And it is in that moment that I had one more painful revelation: I didn't simply like Cora. That would be way too simple. No, I had to love her, my best friend.

I glanced up at the front entrance and find that Renny was staring right at me while Adrian was talking to some of his friends from the soccer team. She had a look in her eyes that told me she saw everything.

So I left as quickly as possible.



Walking wasn't clearing my head. Usually, it would. But the image of Marcus Lordie and Cora Monroe kissing was burned into my retinas, and no matter what I did, it wasn't leaving. I'd sat at the Lighthouse and nearly pulled my hair out trying to get them out of my head. Rex had sat by my side and tentatively licked my fingers until I uncurled myself and made a decision.

As I walked past the special hiding-hole tree, I saw the stupid note and the stupid, withered, rose I left for Cora. How stupid was I for thinking she'd go and see if I left a reply? I scoffed at myself and began running. Running and running until I reached home, stared at my phone for a full minute and decided to be as reckless and idiotic as I wanted to be.

Dad kept his alcohol in a cupboard beside the TV. It sat in a special cupboard that was locked around the clock, unless Dad was getting himself a drink. But I'd looked up how to pick a lock on youtube, which actually worked after a fair amount of grunting and frustration. The cupboard door swung open and I examined the array of liquor bottles, then grabbed out a half-full bottle of Jack Daniel's and drank it like water. I ignored the sting and burn in my throat and nose, but didn't manage to quite stifle the coughing fit that the whiskey gave me. Shit was strong. Then, with a mad cackle that made Rex whine, I returned to the cabinet and grabbed the next bottle I touched..

Glenfiddich. "What can you do?"

Ballantine's. "Wha' the fuck can you do?"

Dewart's. "Wha yah gonna do?"

All empty by the time the clock struck three . . . in the morning.

Chugging from the Dewart's, I leaned a hand against the counter and moan. The image, the fantasies, the games were all slowly churning into one sickening picture, and with the last dregs of the bottle sucked dry, I smashed it over the bench and cut my hand. I laughed at the blood, painting words with it on the floor once I tripped. I found my phone and fumbled with the keys until I pressed send.

"Bitch," I sneered, stumbling over to the window. "Ohno, Sebbie, she'ssnot the bitch. You're the bitch. Like e-everone fuckin' told you. Girls don't like fuckinbitches." I snickered at myself and managed to haul the slide door open. I fell out and cracked my forehead on the wood. But still I snickered. In the backyard, I grinned up at the universe.

"You're a real fucking cunt," I slurred, pointing up at the sky. And was then interrupted by a banging on the door. I frowned and winced as a light cut into my eyes from next door. The banging continued, and a neighbor appeared in the window. She eyed me warily and I pointed at her and laughed - this was laughing, right? Everything was so fuzzy. She shook her head and retreated back into her house. I returned to the living room and shook my hand as it throbbed with pain.

I sniggered again. "Probaly gon' regret tha'omorrow." I sighed and used the bloody hand to rake through my hair.

The banging ceased, and a minute later my phone rang shrilly.

"Fuck off," I told it, but it keeps ringing. I dragged myself over to it. "Heeeeeeello?"

A frantic voice was at the end of the phone. "Seb? What the hell? Are you alright?"

My brow creased. "I'mmsorry, I don' thing we've met. M'name isn't Seb. It is Se-bash-ti-an. I have a dog named Rex and he's . . . don't know where th'fuck heis, bu' he's somewhere." I turned in drunken circles, looking around the room for Rex. Everything was blurry and spinning. This was not nice. I wanted off the ride, it wasn't fun anymore.

"Seb, it's me," replied the voice, exasperated.

"Hiii me, I'm metoo!" I snickered, and heard a sigh of aggravation.

"No, idiot. Me, as in Cora." And I stayed quiet for a long time before laughing so hard I snorted. And Cora was prattling on about some text I don't remember sending, and then I sank to the floor and stared at my hand and just hung up because I didn't like Cora anymore because she went off with hundreds of pretty boys while I watched tragically from afar.

The banging starts up again, and I stumbled to the door. "Fuck off. I don't want cookies!"

"What the fuck, Sebastian! Open the door right now!"

"Are you a... A..." I couldn't think of the word. "Oh! A murderery?" I inquired, because we learned in elementary school that it's better to be safe than sorry.

"Yes, I'm a murderery," Cora spits. I shrugged.

"Sorry, my Sallll said I shun't talk to murders," I replied, then my jaw dropped. "CORA you're a murder?"

"Sebastian Oliver Clark, open. The fucking. Door."

I took a minute to process the seriousness of her tone and then started snickering again. I couldn't help it. My mind was addled and I found everything colorful and bubbly. My hand was still bleeding, and I painted a smear of it on the wallpaper. "Sorry, bitchy, I think you have th'wrong house."

And I returned to the living room and turned on really loud music to drown out the banging and then I collapsed and my hand started to really throb. And I started sobbing because everything hurt and what else are you supposed to do when you hurt and then I saw Cora, I saw Cora by the glass sliding door and she was pale and worried and banging on the door, rattling it to try and get it open, and then everything went black.