Prelude to Destruction

Waking up with the most unhappy eyes staring back at you is not the most pleasant way to start off the day. I would know.

“Your mom let me in,” Johnny said cooly. “Headache sinking in yet?”

I groaned a ‘yes’ and decided never to do that again –it was far too loud, and it made my head hurt terribly. Any other day I might have been embarassed of my light purple and pink décor, complete with stuffed animals on the shelves, but I was in too much pain to actually care.

“Hungover, yeah?”

I nodded in acknowledgement.

“Beach Day?” It wasn’t a question. “Rosalie, look at me.”

The way Johnny asked me to pay attention was rich with such painful demand, maybe even sadness, that I had to look up.

“Alright, you have my full attention,” I said, propping myself up on my hands.

“How many Beach Days have you done?”

I shrugged. “Six.”

“I hate that you didn’t tell me. …Your mom doesn’t know, so don’t worry about that,” Johnny informed me futilely, at the moment I was uncaring. “But you absolutely reek of liquor. …What happened to the Rosalie who disapproved of my smoking? Who didn’t want to touch alcohol with a ten-foot pole?” I stared right at him, not knowing how to answer that question. I just changed, I guess. “You’re only drinking with him because you like him, aren’t you?” He was right.

“Well, at first, yeah,” I admitted. “…But I like it when I’m drunk, its like, for once, I don’t have to care. And nobody cares that I don’t care!” Then I looked at him with a little bit of confusion and a little bit of anger. “Why do you care so much, Johnny? Shouldn’t you be happy that I’m finally doing something interesting?”

Johnny stared at me incredulously. “You were interesting before you started drinking, Rosie! Why do you think I like you so goddamn much?” he yelled.

I found myself looking at my purple bedspread. I don’t think I was supposed to have heard that. He sighed in resignation. I gazed up at him. His face was still a little red from his slip, but he kept on talking. Boy, was talking getting him into trouble. “Yeah, Rosie, I like you; I really do. And I’m sucking it up ‘cause you’re with Matt, and I get it, but I just wish that…” he stopped speaking for lack of better words. “I just wish… that, you know. …He’s a great guy, Matt is, but he’s a little…manipulative. …And I don’t want him to make you do anything you don’t want to do. …You don’t want to drink, do you.” It wasn’t a question.

After all, Johnny was basically the best girly friend a girl could have: he loved to talk about whatever, whenever, for whatever reason; he liked going shopping with me; he liked dancing to Madonna’s “You’ll See” with me, even though it’s definitely a chick song. I’d think he was gay, except I know he isn’t because, well. He likes me.

The point is he knows me too well. He knows that I don’t like drinking or smoking or whatever. Asking me if I liked drinking with Matt was like asking if I liked eating glue –ridiculously rhetorical.

“Okay, so I don’t like drinking with him. But I do like being with him, and if he wants to drink, then, okay. I’ll drink too.”

Johnny groaned. “Can you just promise to, I don’t know, go on a date that’s NOT Beach Day?” he suggested. “Matt’s awesome, but I just don’t want him to change you, you know? ‘Cause I don’t want him to change anything about the girl I fell in love with.” He kissed my hand. (By now this wasn’t awkward, it was just a thing he did, and I didn’t mind it, not really.)

He had guts. I studied my bedspread again.

“I’ve got to go –I’m working today. Stop by, okay? I get lunch break at 1PM today,” he said.

I nodded. “Alright.”

He smiled; I smiled back. “Alright,” he repeated. He kissed my hand again and left me to wallow in my guilt.

I had been wallowing for no more than five minutes when I heard the familiar ‘ping’ and ‘You’ve got mail!’ phrase of the computer. Groaning, I stood up and made my way to the computer. The sender read: Matt <3. I smiled and opened the e-mail.

“Hey, babe. Let’s do YOUR Beach Day today and go to the beach. I’ll be over around 11AM. Matt.”

Sighing in relief at the note –it meant I could have fun with Matt without breaking my promise to Johnny, I stood up and changed into my halter bikini before doing a hundred crunches, during which I decided I’d skip breakfast. Sugar and carbs, AKA cereal, makes you super bloated, and Matt hadn’t yet seen me in only a bikini; I had to look good for him. After all, he’s the super-buff senior. Who’s at the obvious disadvantage here?

***

I walked out and met Matt in my drive. He kissed me like they do in the movies; you know, where the guy bends the girl way backwards? I smiled, and when we were done I said, “Wow, what was that for?”

“I forgot to give you those little white hangover helpers last night; I hope you aren’t too mad at me,” he explained. (I had actually completely forgotten that that was his fault.) “Besides, you’re looking particularly gorgeous today,” he said, eyeing my skimpily clothed body (hey, I was only in a bikini, after all!) in a way that definitely passed lust but managed to avoid lecherous.

“And you’re looking particularly handsome yourself, Matthew,” I said, pecking him quickly on the cheek. “I’m so excited; I havent gone to the beach in like–”

“Two days?” Matt teased, giving my shoulder a squeeze as he opened the door for me. I stuck my tongue out, but he’d already shut the door.

We reached the beach in a few minutes –a perk of living right off of Pacific Coast Highway.

He pulled out the cooler, and I pulled out the towels and sunscreen. After finding a spot on the beach, he opened the cooler and tossed me a bottled water. “Anything to eat?” he asked.

I stood over him and glanced into the cooler quickly before saying as off-handedly as I could muster, “Not right now, I just had breakfast.”

Bless his heart, he had tried to bring good food, but I could tell right away that it wouldn’t do. Come on –chips, regular beer (he couldn’t get any lite?), fried chicken? I knew even one serving size would go over my calorie count for the day, and I NEVER break my calorie count; after all, who wants to be fat?

He shrugged. “Alright.” After closing the cooler he reached for my hand and smiled deviously. “Race ya to the ocean!”