Molly

Zacky loved Molly, he really did.

He loved everything there was to love about her. He loved her smile, the sweet lingering smell of her perfume, the airy way she laughed. But he also hated her. He hated the way she poked fun of him when he made a silly mistake, hated the way she overslept and never washed the dishes. But most of all, Zacky hated how he would never be able to take Molly home to his parents. She was a sweet girl, she really was. But she wasn't the type of girl a guy could bring home.

"Molly, are you out of bed yet?" Zacky called up the stairs. When there was no answer, he sighed and climbed the stairs to their bedroom. His girlfriend was sprawled spread-eagle on their king-sized mattress, having moved over since Zacky left. Her wavy brown hair was in tangled knots all around her head, and a line of drool hung from the corner of her small mouth. On the bedside dresser sat an array of liquor bottles in various states of fullness and s smattering of green seeds and buds, remnants of Molly's escapades. Zacky went to her and shook her. "Molly, get up. It's almost two in the afternoon."

The brunette groaned and dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. She pulled the comforter over her face to shield them, but Zacky immediately yanked it back down. "Just five more mintutes, please," Molly whined.

"Come on now, you can't lay in bed all day," Zacky explained. "You've gotta get up and do something." He sat down on the bed next to Molly and she immediately curled up around his waist, her bony fingers digging into the flesh of his hips. He dug around in the bedside dresser and pulled out the several orange bottles with Molly's name on them. "Come on, take your pills and get cleaned up. I'm gonna go downstairs and make us something for lunch."

Zacky sat the pills down on the bedside dresser and left the room. He loved Molly, he really did, but how could he take her home when she acted this way? She drank, she smoked, and she couldn't hold down a job because of it. His parents and siblings constantly asked when they would get to meet her, but he came up with reasons to put it off. Molly was sick, Avenged Sevenfold had an interview or photoshoot, he had no money for gas. Then he would sit at home with Molly and hold her hair back while she knelt in front of the toilet.

Zacky was finishing up the chicken he was cooking when Molly thundered down the stairs. For such a feather of a girl, she made a tremendous amount of noise. She had on a pair of sunglasses to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight and her hair was scooped into a bun at the base of her neck. She was feeling the effects of her actions last night.

"Here, I made chicken," Zacky said, passing her a paper plate. "There's green beans too, and sweet tea in the fridge."

"Okay thanks," Molly mumbled, surveying the food her boyfriend had prepared. Her stomach growled, but she wouldn't eat enough to satiate her hunger. She knew that and Zacky knew that. It was an issue she had, stemming from an adolescence full of bullying and ridicule.

Molly plopped a small piece of chicken breast onto her plate along with a serving of green beans the size of her fist. She sat the plate down on the counter and went to the fridge, but instead of pouring herself a glass of sweet tea, she poured a glass of wine from the box she kept at the back of the fridge. She noticed the glare that Zacky was giving her from the island and snapped, "What?"

"It's the middle of the day," he replied. His green eyes flickered down to the glass of wine Molly held in her hands, and she drew it close to her chest.

"I'm sad," was all she said. She took a big sip from the cup, loving the bitter taste of the alcohol on her tongue. "You should be happy I'm not drinking whiskey or vodka."

Zacky didn't say another word, just watched Molly as she ate. She removed the skin from the chicken and sat it aside before carefully cutting the chicken breasted into equal, bite-sized pieces. She counted out five pieces and pushed the rest to the side next to the crispy chicken skin. Next Molly halved her serving of green beans and pushed the rest away to join the pile of food that would end up in the garbage. Zacky could see the gears churning in her mind, mentally counting calories, wondering how much weight she would gain from eating the small bit of food on her plate.

His could Zacky possibly take this girl home to his family? His mother was Italian-American; cooking was in her blood. How would she react to a girl that would only eat so many bites of this, only so much of that? His mother wouldn't approve. And his father, who counted every penny, how would he feel about such a wasteful girl? Food was money, he'd say, and Molly was throwing it away. His father wouldn't like her.

Zacky loved Molly, he really did, but he didn't think he could bring a skeleton home to his family.

"You should eat more of that," Zacky said, halting Molly in her tracks, plate wobbling in her bony hand.

"I'm not hungry," Molly retorted. Her stomach growled right then, exposing her obvious lie. She went to the trashcan and tossed the plate inside. Zacky huffed angrily. "You know I'm not normal, Zack," she whispered. "I can't help it."

"Yes you can, you can go to therapy, or--"

"Therapy didn't work the last time," Molly interrupted. She sighed. "I'm gonna go take a shower. I smell like alcohol and weed."

"I wonder why?" Zacky grumbled sarcastically. Molly's eyes darted in his direction, her gaze full of anger and frustration. She didn't understand why Zacky disapproved of her habits; after all, he had the same ones. And she only continued to smoke and drink to mask the pain she felt inside.

Without another word, Molly headed upstairs to the bathroom. Zacky's parting words had only stressed her out more, and she decided that she'd rather have a bath. And if she opted for a bath, she could smoke a blunt or at the very least, a cigarette. Molly fetched her supplies from the bedroom before going back into the bedroom and locking the door behind her. She wasn't in the mood for an interruption from Zacky.

Molly hadn't been in the tub very long - she'd barely sparked her blunt - when she heard Zacky enter the master bedroom. He was obviously on the phone with his mother, because his voice was both tense and tender at the same time.

"No, I'm busy this weekend, Ma," she heard him say. "Something came up with Sevenfold, I'm sorry. I really wanted to bring Molly--" He paused and as Molly took a long drag, she heard the crackle of his mother's voice. "Yeah, maybe next weekend? Unless you and Dad have plans--" Another pause, and Molly heard him sigh. "I'm sorry, Ma. I know you wanted to meet her. Yes, I know we've been dating for awhile. I'll bring her to meet you and Dad soon, I promise. Listen Ma, I gotta go. Tell Dad I said hi. Yeah. Yeah, I love you too, Ma. See you soon. Bye."

Zacky hung up the phone, and when he turned around, Molly stood in front of him, a towel wrapped around her slender body, the blunt dangling from her thin lips. She surveyed her boyfriend with accusing eyes. "You just lied to your mom," she stated. "Sevenfold has absolutely nothing to do this weekend. Why'd you do it?"

"I didn't lie to my mother," Zacky hissed. "How do you know Sevenfold doesn't have anything to do this weekend? You're always drunk or high. You probably wouldn't even know where your head was if it wasn't attached to your body."

"Because I talked to Val and she said that she and Matt were going away for the weekend," Molly snapped. She sucked on the blunt, relishing in the acrid taste on her tongue. Zacky looked on with disdain. "And you know, maybe I wouldn't have to be drunk or high all the time if I actually felt like you cared about me. I can't remember the last time I looked at you and felt like you truly loved me. Why can't you just take me to meet your parents? I'm sure they'd like me well enough."

"Just wait," was all Zacky could say. "You'll meet them eventually."

"It's been almost a year, Zack," Molly snapped. She tossed the spent blunt to the floor and met the smouldering gaze of her boyfriend. She stared him down, waiting for a repsonse, but his mouth remained unfalteringly closed. Molly rolled her eyes. "I need a drink."

She'd only made it to the doorway when Zacky's voice called her back. "This is why I can't bring you back."

Molly swiveled on her heel. "Because I drink?" she hissed. "You drink just as much as I do!"

"Because you don't want to help yourself," Zacky said to her. He went to her and took her face in his hands, running the rough pads of his thumbs along her protruding cheek bones. He missed her plump, happy face. But that Molly had been chased away a long time ago. "You say that your life is so awful but instead of getting help, you squirrel yourself away and pretend that the drugs and the alcohol will make your problems go away. But they won't, Molly. They're only pulling you further away. And how am I supposed to take home a girl who's given up on herself?"

"I haven't given up," she croaked. Her hands went to his wrists and pulled them away from her face. She squeezed tight, hoping that Zacky wouldn't notice the way she was shaking. "I just...I'm not ready."

"You need to rejoin the world of the living, Molly," Zacky whispered. "You can't be a ghost forever." Slowly and with purpose, Zacky moved away from Molly and went over to his dresser. He searched through his top drawer and after a small stretch of silence, walked back to her with something clutched in his tattooed hand. "I want to take this girl home," he said. He held up the picture to show her. It was one taken years ago, right after the Berry brothers had introduced Avenged Sevenfold to their cousin, a flighty feather of a girl named Molly. Zacky had instantly fallen in love with her smile and infectious personality, and he felt like the luckiest man in the world when she agreed to be his. But soon after that Molly's demons began to show themselves and now this picture was all that Zacky had left of the girl he'd fallen in love with. "This girl, the one who's always smiling. The one who only drank to have fun, not to kill herself on the inside. I miss the old you, Molly, the one who was alive." Zacky held the picture closer to her, forcing her to look. He tapped on the picture of her face. "This is the girl I want to take home."

"I can be her," Molly promised, sounding exasperated. But even as she said it she knew it was a lie. She could never be that girl again, not really. "You just have to give me a chance. I'll try, I promise."

Zacky sighed, dropping his gaze from Molly's wild, bloodshot eyes. "I've given you a hundred chances," he said. The emotionless tone of his voice brought a frown to Molly's face. Zacky noticed and with a small smile on his lips, kissed her forehead. "Why don't we just forget about it for right now? I already told Ma that we couldn't make it this weekend, so there's not really a point in arguing about it."

Molly opened her mouth to disagree, but quickly thought better of it. Zacky was right. There really was no point in arguing when nothing would sway Zacky's decision. But letting the argument die would only mean rekindling it in the future, with only more fuel to add to the fire. In the end, Molly simply walked away, her slender shoulders slumped in disappointment. Arguing over getting to meet Zacky's parents might seem petty to most, but to Molly it meant that Zacky trusted and loved her enough to let her meet the people most precious to him. But as more and more time passed, that elusive trust and love seemed to be slipping further and further away.

As Molly walked away, she seemed to fade away under the weight of her frustration and disappointment. Zacky listened to her footsteps echoing down the stairs, and wasn't surprised to hear the rattle of glass in the kitchen. How could Molly say that she would change, but unsurprisingly falter and break her promises? Zacky knew that his hands were dirty in this matter as much as Molly's were, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation. She would let her demons take over without a fight.

Zacky loved Molly, he really did. But how could he bring a ghost home to his family?