Status: On Suspended Hiatus
The Day All The Statues Came To Life
Chapter 4
To me, Vodka is the perfect drink. I don’t mix it, I don’t chase it, I drink it. It’s pure fire, and it hurts like hell, but drinking to get drunk is hell, and there is no reason to ease the passage in my opinion. I easily claim a bottle for my own, and make my way to the living room, sitting on a stuffed purple velvet couch watching some idiots play pong.
“You gonna drink that whole bottle?”
I look over to the sound of the voice. Perched on one of the armrests of the couch is a boy, and in all honesty, he’s a mess. His hair is long and sweeping into his face, and he looks like he could be handsome but he’s been through too much shit to even try anymore.
It occurs to me that he looks like…well, me.
“Probably.” I admit.
He grins at me, his teeth are very white and perfect. I’m almost dazzled, but I think it’s the alcohol’s doing rather than my own.
“If you are going to drink to get drunk,” he says, sliding down so he is next to me. “You have to make it fun.”
“Says who?”
“Me.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes and turn away, surveying the crowd. I spot Bex and Jake acting like some sickingly adorable couple.
“Oh god.” The kid next to me gags.
“Them?” I ask, nodding to the two.
“My dear little brother, totally whipped.”
“Jake’s your brother?”
“How ‘bout this, every time they kiss, we take a shot.”He says ignoring my question. I see Bex peck him on the cheek.
“We’re going to blackout.” I point out to him, but I’m already feeling intrigued.
“Isn’t that the point? Bottom’s up.”
About 5 kisses and therefore 5 shots later, my head is spinning, and everything seems a little too bright, a little too much. “I need a cigarette.” I say to him, but it sounds more like “Ishneedchaciggarttesh.”
“Not in here.” He says.
I roll my eyes in annoyance that he thinks that I would actually light up in here.
“What, do you have any idea how hard it is to get the smell out of the curtains?”
I get up, almost stumbling into a side table, but he catches my elbow. “I’ll help you out for one.”
“I don’t need help.” I say, but I’m not sure if I’m meaning help to the outside or if I mean help in general. Everything feels a little muddled.
Outside, the night is cool and crisp, the chilly air, unusual for a spring evening, sobering me quite a bit. I toss him the pack after I take one out, light it and then in annoyance, stuff my hair up into a ponytail, getting it off my sticky neck.
“So,” he says tossing me back the pack. “What’s your story?”
“What’s yours?” I snap back.
“I asked first.”
“I’m not in grade school anymore. That argument doesn’t work.”
“Fine, I’ll start off easy. My favorite color is green.”
I cock my head to the side and contemplate him. He’s smirking at me, and running a hand through his unruly hair. “Blue.” I allot finally.
He laughs. “Your one tough cookie.”
“What makes you say that?” I’m genuinely curious. It’s not often that I meet someone new like this, and to me, it’s fascinating: what people who don’t know you can tell about you.
“You’ve got the look.” He says vaguely and looks away.
The funny thing is, he is totally, totally wrong. I’m not tough. Not even remotely. If I was tough I would have punched James in the baby maker and then stormed out, and not get drunk off cheap vodka with my sister’s boyfriend’s brother who’s name I don’t even know.
And even worse, I don’t want to be tough. I want to be the turtle. I want to hide in my shell when things get to tough, I want to be able to hide. And instead, I feel like the cockroach. No matter how many times I get stepped on, I fucking endure, and it’s exhausting, and I’m tired of it.
And the only way to fight it is to lose myself in cigarettes and hard liquor.
I dreamed a beautiful dream. I had grown the most georgous wings. They’re perfection almost made me want to cry. I spread them wide and flew away. Away from all the people, from the bright lights of the city, from all my problems. And I felt so wonderfully free. Weightless, like a balloon must feel when it frees itself from it’s string. And I flew up, and up, and up, until I came to the moon, which was a perfect crescent shape. I sat in the crook of the moon and watched the world from my perch, and I laughed at all the stupid humans down below, and all their stupid problems from what I thought must be the most beautiful place in the universe.
I woke up with the worst headache in the world. It was still dark outside, from what I could see from the window, but dawn was not that far away. I was on the sofa I had been drinking on earlier. I got up and headed towards the kitchen. I needed coffee, and I needed it now. I started digging through the cupboards looking for filters, anything that could be used to start the process.
“Here.” I turned to see the guy I had drunk into oblivion with, holding a coffee mug. Today he looked little better, but there was something about him that was undeniably...sexy. He had the tall skinny look going for him, his shaggy dark hair hung in his eyes and was messy, but in a way it looked good. His eyes had purple rings underneath and were slightly puffy making it difficult to determine the color, giving him the look of an insomniac. But despite all of this, or maybe, because of it, he was actually a handsome guy.
“You’re my savior.” I said, taking it.
“I never got your name.” He said after a minute.
I hopped up onto the kitchen counter. “Teagan Marshell.”
“Bex’s sister.” He mused. “I think I’ve heard about you.”
“Probably nothing good.” I muttered.
“Not really.” He agreed. “I wonder why that is?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Ryan.” He said, offering his hand. I shook it.
“By the way, what time is it?”
“Seven.”
“FUCK!” I yelled, jumping off the counter. “BEX!” I screamed, I ran into the other room, grabbing my shoes and purse, looking for Bex in the pile of bodies.
“Whoa, what’s wrong?” Ryan asked.
“BEX!” I bellowed, ignoring him, and charging up the stairs. “Bex it’s 7am!”
Bex suddenly came scrambling out of a room, her shirt half on, and putting a shoe on. “Shit!”
“I know!”
“What is going on?” Ryan asked again; he had followed me upstairs.
“Our dad. Is going to kill me. Us.” I corrected, as Bex adjusted her shirt and grabbed her bag. “Let’s go!”
We scrambled to the door, but Ryan grabbed my arm, and pulled out a Sharpie. I didn’t have time to ask why he was carrying a marker, and what he was doing, but he hastily scrawled down some large clear numbers. “Call me.” He said letting me go.
I nodded, got out the keys and Bex and I floored it out of there.
“You gonna drink that whole bottle?”
I look over to the sound of the voice. Perched on one of the armrests of the couch is a boy, and in all honesty, he’s a mess. His hair is long and sweeping into his face, and he looks like he could be handsome but he’s been through too much shit to even try anymore.
It occurs to me that he looks like…well, me.
“Probably.” I admit.
He grins at me, his teeth are very white and perfect. I’m almost dazzled, but I think it’s the alcohol’s doing rather than my own.
“If you are going to drink to get drunk,” he says, sliding down so he is next to me. “You have to make it fun.”
“Says who?”
“Me.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes and turn away, surveying the crowd. I spot Bex and Jake acting like some sickingly adorable couple.
“Oh god.” The kid next to me gags.
“Them?” I ask, nodding to the two.
“My dear little brother, totally whipped.”
“Jake’s your brother?”
“How ‘bout this, every time they kiss, we take a shot.”He says ignoring my question. I see Bex peck him on the cheek.
“We’re going to blackout.” I point out to him, but I’m already feeling intrigued.
“Isn’t that the point? Bottom’s up.”
About 5 kisses and therefore 5 shots later, my head is spinning, and everything seems a little too bright, a little too much. “I need a cigarette.” I say to him, but it sounds more like “Ishneedchaciggarttesh.”
“Not in here.” He says.
I roll my eyes in annoyance that he thinks that I would actually light up in here.
“What, do you have any idea how hard it is to get the smell out of the curtains?”
I get up, almost stumbling into a side table, but he catches my elbow. “I’ll help you out for one.”
“I don’t need help.” I say, but I’m not sure if I’m meaning help to the outside or if I mean help in general. Everything feels a little muddled.
Outside, the night is cool and crisp, the chilly air, unusual for a spring evening, sobering me quite a bit. I toss him the pack after I take one out, light it and then in annoyance, stuff my hair up into a ponytail, getting it off my sticky neck.
“So,” he says tossing me back the pack. “What’s your story?”
“What’s yours?” I snap back.
“I asked first.”
“I’m not in grade school anymore. That argument doesn’t work.”
“Fine, I’ll start off easy. My favorite color is green.”
I cock my head to the side and contemplate him. He’s smirking at me, and running a hand through his unruly hair. “Blue.” I allot finally.
He laughs. “Your one tough cookie.”
“What makes you say that?” I’m genuinely curious. It’s not often that I meet someone new like this, and to me, it’s fascinating: what people who don’t know you can tell about you.
“You’ve got the look.” He says vaguely and looks away.
The funny thing is, he is totally, totally wrong. I’m not tough. Not even remotely. If I was tough I would have punched James in the baby maker and then stormed out, and not get drunk off cheap vodka with my sister’s boyfriend’s brother who’s name I don’t even know.
And even worse, I don’t want to be tough. I want to be the turtle. I want to hide in my shell when things get to tough, I want to be able to hide. And instead, I feel like the cockroach. No matter how many times I get stepped on, I fucking endure, and it’s exhausting, and I’m tired of it.
And the only way to fight it is to lose myself in cigarettes and hard liquor.
I dreamed a beautiful dream. I had grown the most georgous wings. They’re perfection almost made me want to cry. I spread them wide and flew away. Away from all the people, from the bright lights of the city, from all my problems. And I felt so wonderfully free. Weightless, like a balloon must feel when it frees itself from it’s string. And I flew up, and up, and up, until I came to the moon, which was a perfect crescent shape. I sat in the crook of the moon and watched the world from my perch, and I laughed at all the stupid humans down below, and all their stupid problems from what I thought must be the most beautiful place in the universe.
I woke up with the worst headache in the world. It was still dark outside, from what I could see from the window, but dawn was not that far away. I was on the sofa I had been drinking on earlier. I got up and headed towards the kitchen. I needed coffee, and I needed it now. I started digging through the cupboards looking for filters, anything that could be used to start the process.
“Here.” I turned to see the guy I had drunk into oblivion with, holding a coffee mug. Today he looked little better, but there was something about him that was undeniably...sexy. He had the tall skinny look going for him, his shaggy dark hair hung in his eyes and was messy, but in a way it looked good. His eyes had purple rings underneath and were slightly puffy making it difficult to determine the color, giving him the look of an insomniac. But despite all of this, or maybe, because of it, he was actually a handsome guy.
“You’re my savior.” I said, taking it.
“I never got your name.” He said after a minute.
I hopped up onto the kitchen counter. “Teagan Marshell.”
“Bex’s sister.” He mused. “I think I’ve heard about you.”
“Probably nothing good.” I muttered.
“Not really.” He agreed. “I wonder why that is?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Ryan.” He said, offering his hand. I shook it.
“By the way, what time is it?”
“Seven.”
“FUCK!” I yelled, jumping off the counter. “BEX!” I screamed, I ran into the other room, grabbing my shoes and purse, looking for Bex in the pile of bodies.
“Whoa, what’s wrong?” Ryan asked.
“BEX!” I bellowed, ignoring him, and charging up the stairs. “Bex it’s 7am!”
Bex suddenly came scrambling out of a room, her shirt half on, and putting a shoe on. “Shit!”
“I know!”
“What is going on?” Ryan asked again; he had followed me upstairs.
“Our dad. Is going to kill me. Us.” I corrected, as Bex adjusted her shirt and grabbed her bag. “Let’s go!”
We scrambled to the door, but Ryan grabbed my arm, and pulled out a Sharpie. I didn’t have time to ask why he was carrying a marker, and what he was doing, but he hastily scrawled down some large clear numbers. “Call me.” He said letting me go.
I nodded, got out the keys and Bex and I floored it out of there.