Backwards

It's very easy to get lost in something. To let your mind take you places while the outside world is in complete and utter disarray. I like to think I've perfected this art, listening to the charcoal pencil scrape against the thick, textured paper rather than Regan screaming at her boyfriend over the phone in the other room. But, regardless of what I think, nobody's perfect. Before I start subliminally scripting the word asshole all over my page, I illicit the help of my trusty headphones and plug in to another plane of reality.

There we go. That's much better. Now to focus on the task at hand. Trying to lose myself in this assignment. Drawing without distraction, drawing outside of your normal mindset. Truly letting the pencil go wild in your fingers, preferably without use of one of your senses. Okay. Here goes.

But, music is my normal mindset. I listen to it fifteen hours a day. And not being distracted in this apartment is completely impossible. So I guess I'm not doing this right. Damn. The semester just started and I can't even do my first assignment right. I yank on the white wire that hangs around my neck and my headphones fall out of my ears with a pop. This isn't going to work. Before I can pack up my sketchbook and head out for some solace, Regan bursts in my room, tears streaming down her face.

"I hate him. I hate him so much!" Black mascara is pooling under her eyes. Her fair cheeks are now blushed, pink and blotchy. I can barely understand what she's telling me as she sobs and wails through her tears, but I can get the gist. Adam's an ass.

After what seems like hours of crying, Regan is finally accepting the fact that her boyfriend is a complete and utter douche bag. She's finally over him, ready to burn all his things and wants nothing to do with him. Only this time, I hope she really means it. She's still a wreck. Adam has pulled some real stupid shit before but this takes the cake.

He missed her show last night and gave her some bullshit excuse which she would've believed, if not for the photos that surfaced online of him and some girl the same night. I try my best to keep her calm, but she's cried so much she's practically dry heaving on my lap so I rub her back with the palm of my hand.

"I'm sorry." I say, for the hundredth time tonight. I don't know what she sees in him, really. The typical senior frat boy, Adam wastes his time planning themed parties and ordering his pledges around to do his bidding. He enjoys sunsets, long walks on the beach - as long as there are plenty of busty girls in bikinis around. Oh, and let's not forget, making my life a living hell every time he and Regan get into a fight, which is always.

The crying finally subsides and she just lays there, motionless on my lap. If I ever see that fucker again, I'm going to kill him. Regan looks a mess. Her blonde hair is stuck to the side of her head and the rest is sticking out all over the place. I want to laugh because she always looks so polished but now it looks like she just went through a carwash in a convertible. She sits up and frees her hair from the knot that's sitting on the side of her head. She rests her head onto mine, our hair forming a ying-yang of dark and light. She, blonde and bubbly, is very much my polar opposite. The love she has for everyone and everything is probably her biggest fault, although it's such a seemingly great quality. It makes her vulnerable and susceptible to assholes like Adam. But ever since we met in third grade, I felt the need to have her in my life. The sister I never had.

"Let's go out." She says, which surprises me since her usual break-up remedy is a pint of ice cream, sangria and Ryan Gosling movies. She wipes her nose and gets up.

"Come on, let's go." She's not whining, she's not even begging me. She's complacent and calm and will probably go without me if I say no.

"Are you sure?" I know she is, but I'm still shocked that she has so easily flipped the switch from heartbreak to enthusiasm. Or the closest thing to enthusiasm she can muster since she barely has a voice left. Maybe she just wants to get wasted and forget all about it so she can call him tomorrow and apologize for something that was nowhere near her fault.

"Riley. Yes. I'm sure. And don't look at me like that. I just want to have fun and not have to see," she looks around and grabs one of Adam's video game cases, "this." She tosses it to the ground and crosses her arms across her chest just to show how serious she is. I'm hesitant but give in, like I always do.

"I guess. Going out does sound better than watching another Gosling movie." I tilt my head to the side. "Wait, we aren't going to the movies are we?" I'll be damned if she's going to drag me to a movie theater just to ball her damn eyes out, in public no less.

"No! Although he does have a new movie out." She taps her chin and ponders out loud. She's being a pain in my ass now, but I'm glad she's acting playful and not sobbing.

I throw a pillow at her. "Not funny."

She smiles wide, finally. "It'll be fun. Benji told me about this bar. Supposed to be pretty cool."

Great. I groan. Benji, who would rather walk around the neighborhood barefooted, blaring Enya all day, isn't exactly the type of person who would know how to have a good time.

"Let me guess. Does this place have poetry readings?" She laughs as we walk together to her room. Pulling the doors open to her closet, she takes out a short, black dress that looks like it could be a tee shirt.

"Yeah, because I'd wear this gem to hear people pour their hearts out. The only thing I want to hear pouring is the alcohol." And she's back. I can't help but smile.

"What?" She asks, pulling out a couple choices for me since it's clear she's wearing the dress that must have belonged to a stripper in a past life, which is perfectly fine with me. The dress she made me wear last night was short enough; add this one and it'll be like she's implying that I can't dress myself appropriately.

"Nothing." I grab the dark blue top and white skirt out of the pile she just tossed on her bed. "I'm just surprised you're so... composed. You must really be over this."

She takes the white skirt from me and hands me a pair of black leather shorts. "I am. Now get dressed so you can watch me get shitfaced." I see her shoulders slump in regret once she blurts it out, but before she apologizes, I just shake my head.

"It's fine."

"No. I didn't mean watch like babysit, I just meant... since you don't drink anymore, you know?"

The fact that I started in the first place was idiotic; growing up with a prime example of life at the bottom of a whiskey barrel. I should have known, but that was then, and I've learned how to be more responsible now. After reciting to myself in a mirror that I am not, nor will I ever be "her", I finally got control of myself. But every so often, I feel a quiver in my blood, a dry spot in the back of my throat and an urge to act my age and tonight, I'm feeling particularly reckless. Maybe it's this assignment that I can't seem to grasp or the fact that my best friend clearly needs a drinking buddy right now. I don't know but it feels like high school all over again.

"You never know." I say, unable to hide my mischievous smile. "The night is young and so am I."

Regan parks across the street from an old brick building with a single giant green awning that reads BRASS KNUCKLE in gold. It's nestled on a perfect street corner in the middle of the Strip District, but looks to be running on fumes. The few people that are standing around the entrance are dressed casually, in tee shirts and jeans, some even donning work boots. I suddenly feel immensely out of place.

"Kiss my ass jagoff!" Two guys are shouting at each other on the street in front of the bar. They're cursing and it looks like brawl is about to happen, but they both start laughing and then clap each other on the back.

By the look of this place, we would normally be kindred spirits - a little rough around the edges, laden with curse words and fighting to stay alive in a hard city, but I'm dressed to the nines in goodies from Regan's closet. Not exactly the type of thing I'd wear to a place that's probably going to leave me smelling like the inside of an ashtray.

"You don't want to go to a club or something?" I throw on the leather jacket I left in her backseat the other night, thank God, and pray silently that my boots are back there too. I'm digging, but no dice. Black stilettos it is. I pick the pins that are holding my hair up and let the dark waves fall beyond my shoulders. I tousle the top of my head and then look at Regan to see what I can do to edge her up. The little black dress is really all she has on, apart from her nude heels. Her long blonde hair is immaculately tied in a sleek pony tail. She looks pristine and perfectly glossed. Whatever I do will be meaningless. She will forever look like a Barbie doll.

"I thought we'd try something different." She says, pressing her lips together to smear the red tinted gloss around.

I'll say. I never thought she'd be caught dead in a place like this, but maybe this is a first step in a new direction. Regan beeps the lock on her car more than a few times, so any passerby's know it's locked and armed, and struts towards the door. I already know I won't be having too much fun tonight. Fending the vultures off Malibu Barbie will be taking up all of my time.

"Great place." I fake a smile and scoot to the end of the stool. A sigh of relief escapes my mouth when I feel the safe barrier of leather between my skin and whatever I just sat in. Regan says nothing. She has that look in her eye that tells me she's on the hunt for potential rebound guys. I signal for the bartender before two Rufie Cocktails are sent to us by the older guys in sweatpants sitting at the opposite end of the bar. They haven't taken their eyes off the blonde bombshell since we sat down. It's Friday night, yet seems like six p.m. on a Wednesday without a theme like trivia night to rope in some extra business.

"What'll it be ladies?" The bartender smiles at me, then at Regan who bats her eyelashes and leans forward to keep his attention. It works. I definitely need to stay on high alert here.

"Long Island, please." Regan's voice is smoother than silk. Her boobs might actually pop out of her dress if she leans forward anymore and I think that's exactly what he's waiting for because he doesn't even glance in my direction to get my order.

"Whiskey and Coke." I say, not waiting for an opening. "If you're not too busy there, buddy."

He nods and leaves to pour our drinks. Regan slaps my arm and scoffs.

"What?!" I laugh and rub my arm where her bony hand just hit.

"Do you have to be so mean? He's like the only hot guy in here." She folds her arms in front of her chest and puffs. What a baby.

"I'm not mean. And don't worry, he'll be back. You were practically flashing him with those puppies." I point at her chest. She glares at me and then her eyes float around the room, checking for any other suitable men, just in case Hot Bartender doesn't give her the attention she wants when he comes back. But he does. Of course he does. He's definitely her type - dark hair, dark eyes. Let's just hope he isn't a jackass like the last one.

My phone starts to vibrate on the bar, making a loud obnoxious noise. Paige's name flashes on the screen and I should take it but I feel particularly obligated to keep an eye on Regan.

"Aren't you going to get that?" She says, widening her eyes. In other words, I need to get the hell out of here and let her mack it with Hot Bartender. Fine.

"Oh, yes. Very important phone call." I say as robotic as possible, rendering another glare from the blonde bombshell. Jeeze. She needs to chill out. She must be really bent up on getting laid tonight. I get up and find a quiet-ish hall by the bathrooms to call Paige back. I managed to call her while Regan was getting ready and quickly gave her a rundown of the situation.

"Riley? How is she? Is she okay?" She answers in a rush, clearly worried about Regan. Paige has been living in New York since the fall after we graduated high school and hates missing all the drama in our lives. The Blossom to our Bubbles and Buttercup trio, she's usually the one responsible for our bad decisions, fun times and unforgettable nights.

"Malibu Barbie is fine. She's trying to scoop up a bartender as we speak." I say, leaning against a wall plastered in hundreds of band flyers.

"A bartender? And you left her alone why? Please tell me he's at least good looking." I hear a door shut on her end and know that she's probably working.

"Yeah, he's cute."

"Like, Dave Franco cute? Or Zac Efron cute?" I hear a lot of movement on her end, and the distinct sound of a zipper.

"More like the guy who was in 500 Days of Summer."

"I don't know what that is." She says, letting out a loud breath.

"It's a great movie, Paige."

"What else was he in?" Low grunting can be heard through the receiver but I pull the phone away from my ear to make sure it's coming from the phone and not somewhere else. No, definitely coming from her end. What the hell is she doing?

"Um," I have to think of something that's a little more her style. "Oh! He was the guy in Don Jon."

She lets out a moan. Okay, either she really likes that movie or...

A male voice is clearly grunting her name in the background and I'm pretty sure I might puke. "Ew, Paige! Are you doing some guy right now?"

I guess she's not at work. Then again...

"No! Okay, yes." She can barely speak but I'm suddenly, and thankfully, distracted by two people emerging from the backdoor at the end of the hall. They're all over each other, and like a train wreck, I can't turn away. A flash of messy brown hair and a lifted polo collar make me freeze. I have to stand there and stare to get a confirmation, but I'm fairly certain that it's Adam.

"I'll call you later." I say quickly to Paige and hang up. The Adam look-a-like grabs the red head by the arm and leans her against the wall opposite me. She's running her hands up the back of his shirt while he eats her face off. It's truly disgusting but I can't tear myself from waiting to see if it's him or not. She lets him suck on her neck and when he turns his head to catch his breath, I make the match.

It's Adam.