Beautifully Ruined

by Nessa Morgan

  “Okay, how about bonfires?” He pulls back the chair opposite mine and sits down, folding his hands in front of him, his smile large, beaming, and begging. Blonde hair falls into his eyes, hair he flips away quickly. As much as I want to deny him, I don’t think I’ll be able to successfully with the way he’s looking at me.

  But I need to hold my resolve. “Will there also be a party?” I ask, knowing the answer.

  Milo nods and shrugs. “In all technical terms, yes,” he answers.

  I nod slowly. “Pass.”

  “Come on, Joey.” His arms jut out, his hands moving into my sight, sliding across my notebook. “Please go,” he begs.

  I try my best to ignore him. “I don’t succumb to the wishing of a begging man, Cowboy.” I drop my pen. “How are you even invited to a party? I thought everyone was scared of you or some crap like that?”

  Milo shrugs, tugging his arms back to his side of the table. “They are. Which I don’t understand because I’m a delight.” His grin blooms, crooked and cocky. I can’t help but to roll my eyes. “But that’s beside the point. I was invited.”

  “By who?”

  “I don’t know, someone handed me a flyer—and I want my best friend to accompany me.” Milo clasps his hands together, jutting out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout that annoys me. But it’s one I may not be able to turn down.

  Damn.

  “I hate parties,” I say—actually, I whine loudly. Milo smiles, knowing his previous pout is working on me. “Like, you don’t understand, I don’t have a good track record at these things,” I explain but I can’t bring myself to talk about the last party I attended. “I’m not social; no one really likes me, and trust that feeling is usually mutual.”

  “But I will be there,” Milo offers, as if that were tempting enough for me to give up a night of vegging on the couch with Netflix. “I’ll be there to shield you from whatever hell may come your way.”

  I think about it. A night to do absolutely nothing but hang around a giant fire pit people can possibly throw me into. Yeah, that sounds like a complete blast to me.

  But Milo wants to go. And he’s right—I’m his only friend.

  And he’s the closest thing I have to a best friend these days. Best friends do things like this for each other.

  “Fine,” I say reluctantly. “Let’s party like it’s 1999,” I say, deadpan.

    

  The person hosting the bonfire is a senior I’ve never heard of—some dude with access to an empty field in the weirdest part of Seattle I’ve ever seen. Stepping from the car, I tug down the hem of one of the sweatshirts I’m wearing, trying to stop the cold creeping beneath the fabric. I’m wearing yellow cut-off gloves, which was a horrible decision because these things don’t help my hands at all, and fuzzy ankle boots.

  Immediately, I regret my decision to wear boots. They’re not too warm. Especially when wet and I just stepped in the middle of a large puddle.

  Just great.

  Milo walks over, smiling wide and happy. It’s like he’s never been to a party before, the joy on his face. I’m sure he had friends down in Texas who invited him out, so I wonder what’s with the look of joy.

  “All right, Cowboy,” I begin, pulling my hat further onto my head to cover my ears. “Why am I here?” I ask before shoving my freezing hands deep in my pockets.

  “No reason,” Milo whispers, his eyes searching for something… or someone.

  I mentally call bullshit but I can’t call him out, he did drag me here—he can leave me here. It’s a long walk back to Lynnwood.

  Okay, let me try a better question. “Why did you want to come here?”

  A small smile tugs the corners of his lips. “No reason.” He lightly shoves his elbow into my shoulder. I’m not buying any of this. I hope he knows that as I glare at him.

  “Now that’s bullshit if I ever heard it,” I tell him with a return punch to the arm. We start walking toward the fire pit, the heat radiating, killing every last bit of chill within me with exception to my feet. “Be honest with me, Milo.”

  “Well…” he trails, his eyes searching through the surrounding crowd. “There may be a girl I’m looking for.”

  I punch him in the arm again. Harder. “You brought me here because of a girl?” Milo laughs, moving to dodge my second—really, the third—punch of the evening. And there will be plenty more.

  “Yeah, she’s in my science class, we talk a lot.” His blue eyes drift through the crowd again, sweeping back and forth. “She said she’d be here, so I snagged a flyer from someone before they could notice me taking it.”

  I giggle quietly, looking up to my friend as he eagerly searches. “So who’s this goddess?” I ask.

  “Alexia Cavanaugh.”

  I stop in mid-step, grabbing his arm and tugging him back beside me. He can’t possibly mean the same Alexia I have been avoiding for the past month. No, he can’t. But looking up at him, I can tell I’m wrong.

  Milo’s eyes widen as a familiar blonde form emerges from the condensed crowd. Alone. With her hands stuffed in her jacket, she makes her way toward us, tenderly stepping to avoid holes and rocks. The last thing she needs is to trip. I’d only laugh. Loudly. With pointing. I turn to edge away, I don’t need to witness his fail, but Milo has other plans. Grabbing my arm, he tugs me closer to his side as he marches toward Alexia.

  “Alexia,” he calls as we near her. I’m stumbling over stones and logs before he stops in front of her. “Hey.” He sounds breathless.

  “Milo, hey. How are you?” she asks, giving him her complete attention. Her eyes sparkle when looking up to him—as surprising as that is to me, it’s quite adorable. If she has to go for anyone, at least it’s a decent human being, like Milo.

  “I’m good,” Milo answers slowly.

  It is laughable how mesmerized he is with Alexia. If I knew that, I would have tried harder to stay home. Hell, I may ask someone for a ride home in ten minutes—just as soon as Milo releases his vice grip.

  “Joey,” Alexia says, turning to me. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.” I yank my arm from Milo’s grip. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

  Alexia nods. “We’re partners in science,” she answers, looking at Milo with a shy smile. Is she serious? “I told him I’d be here.”

  That explains so much.

  “Well, this was fun, kids, but I’m needed”—I look around—“over there.” I point to a tree before I bolt, looking for anyone else I may know to distract me from whatever is going on between Milo and Alexia. I don’t need to witness whatever’s blooming.

  I see plenty of familiar faces as I push through the crowd. Mostly juniors and seniors, the occasional sophomore and freshman, but they’re a rarity.

  Rounding the fire, I spot someone I didn’t expect to see tonight—Zephyr. He stands in the center of a large group, his arms bare except for the sleeves of his plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows. He could always handle the cold better than I could. Even more unexpected—Blondie latched onto his arm. The sight of them is enough to stop me in my tracks.

  I don’t even know her name but I hate her. I hate her with an unruly passion and it’s taking all I can muster not to march over to her and demand she keep her grubby mitts off my man while ripping out her hair.

  See, I’m turning into a cartoon character.

  I stumble, catching myself before I tumble into the fire. No one near me can see me—well, they can, they’re just not paying attention. They have other important things to focus their attention on. I’m only thankful no one tried to push me into the flames. To be honest, no one here is really above it.

  Zephyr laughs, his voice carries through the air, tugging at a heartstring I long ago thought was taut and immune to him. I look around, hoping for something or someone to distract me, anything that seems like a better option than just standing here, staring at the two of them as they smile and laugh at each other. But there’s nothing. Walking past the g
roup unnoticed, I find the cooler. Alcohol it is. I reach in, pulling out a Coors, and popping the tab, to down half the can.

  It’s disgusting going down, the taste bitter and stale on my tongue, but I’m ready for this release. Chugging half the can, I lean back and wait patiently for it to take effect. I’m a lightweight—it shouldn’t take long.

  “Easy there, it isn’t a race,” someone says next to me. I look over; spotting a senior I’ve passed in the halls several times. I think his name is Everett, like the city, which makes me feel bad for the kid.

  “If it were, I think I’d be winning.” I resume my drinking, downing the rest and tossing the can into the nearest garbage can. At least they’re all responsible. I pop the tab of a new can.

  “Honey, it’s going to go straight to your head,” he tells me, stepping closer, further into the light, illuminating his sharp features, like his cheekbones and broad jaw. His brown hair falls over his forehead, just barely touching his lashes. Dark brown eyes stare back at me coupled with a smile that really does nothing for me. What a shame. He’s cute.

  “Good,” I say, pushing away from the tree I’m leaning against. “And don’t call me honey,” I tell him as I grab another beer from the cooler and head toward the tree line, sitting on a fallen log to drink alone and in peace.

  I remember health class telling us underage drinking was bad. Don’t do it, Mrs. Bennett from freshman year told us. Don’t even go near alcohol. It was easier back then to entertain the idea of remaining abstinent to alcohol and all things inappropriate for us younger teens. It was easier to think that I’d never touch a drop of alcohol, but here I am. But if you do decide to drink while underage, Mrs. Bennett continued that day in class, drink responsibly. I think this is the exact opposite of what she was hoping. I’m drinking by myself at a high school party where I know a total of five people—maybe. This seems like the dumbest thing I can do but I can’t leave.

  On my third beer, things start to get fuzzy. By my fourth, I just want to dance. Thankfully and like the grace of the alcohol gods—that could be Dionysus but my knowledge of Greek Gods is a bit rusty while intoxicated—there is a makeshift dance floor filled with grinding bodies, not to mention the music blaring through pairs of giant speakers someone set up around the area. I charge my way over and start making my moves, feeling sexier than ever.

  I’m not sure what happened to Milo over the course of the two hours we’ve been here, but I’m sure he would’ve stopped me if he saw me. But he hasn’t so I’m in the clear to do whatever the hell I please right now. Goody freaking gum drops. Milo is nowhere to be found.

  Hands grab my hips and move along with me. I spin around, facing a guy I don’t remember. He could be a student at the school or some random passerby who couldn’t pass up a good party, I don’t care—I only want to dance. I just want to move. He’s helping.

  As I enjoy the music—something bouncy and fun I’m really getting into—the hands around my hips disappear, as does the guy with whom I’m dancing. Soon, I’m standing alone wondering what happened. I stop, looking around dumbly, letting my hand pull through my hair. I lost my hat somewhere.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” someone yells by my ear. Surprised, I stumble backward, holding out my arms to keep my balance. “Have you not learned anything in the past year or have you completely lost your mind?”

  I look up, searching for the angry voice, and my breath catches in my throat.

  Zephyr.

  He’s standing before me, his chocolate eyes dark with anger.

  “It’s you,” I slur, reaching out a hand but quickly taking it back, my joy replacing itself with makeshift-indifference. “Why do you care?” I bark, shoving past him in search of my next drink. As much as I crave it, I don’t wait for his answer.

  “Joey, where are you going?”

  “To find my next beer,” I shout over my shoulder, pathetically pushing my way through the crowd and stumbling with every step. “Got a problem with that?”

  His hand grabs my arm, pulling me back until I press against his body. The momentary contact surprises then calms me, taking me back to place I used to love, a place I still love. But I need to move on. I try to pull away but his grip only tightens. “Yeah, I’ve got a problem. You’re not drinking anymore,” he tells me.

  I tug my arm away, stepping away from him. “Last time I checked, you can’t control what I do anymore.”

  “Yeah, whose fault is that?” he snaps, the anger pouring from his lips.

  It sobers me. But that might be my own rage forming

  I spin around, charging at him fast enough that he takes a step back. I push against him with my hands, shoving him as hard as I can but he doesn’t move, he’s like a wall. “Don’t you fucking dare,” I seethe, shoving against him because I can. “Don’t make me the fucking bad guy. Because what I did, I did it for you.” I shove him again for good measure.

  Zephyr looks to me, his face encased in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” I drop my arms, tears rolling down my cheeks. I can feel the eyes of those closest to us staring. I know what they’re thinking—I’m losing it—and I might as well be. “Do you think this has been easy for me?”

  “Well, you looked pretty happy with what’s-his-name over there.” He thumbs behind him, not even landing on Milo.

  “What about you?” I scream, catching a few more glances. “Why are you here with me when you could be with your date, Zephyr?”

  “This isn’t about me, this is about you,” he yells in return. “I’m taking you home.” Zephyr grabs my arm lightly, leading me toward the parked cars.

  “I don’t want to go home with you.” I stop and pull but his grip only tightens. “I came here with a friend; I am leaving with that friend.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  Zephyr doesn’t listen to me. He instead pulls me toward the little blue car I didn’t notice when Milo pulled in—and he parked next to. He pulls open the passenger side door and motions for me to slide in.

  I shake my head. “I’m not going, Zephyr,” I say, crossing my arms defiantly.

  “My God, Joey, stop acting like a bratty little girl and get in the car.”

  I shake my head, practically throwing a tantrum that would make a toddler in the toy aisle proud—maybe I’m not as sobered up as I thought. “No.”

  “Joey.” Zephyr leans closer, his nose nearly touching mine. “Get. In. The. Car.”

  If he thinks that’ll work on me, then he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks.

  I snort, amazed at his idiocy. “No.” I push away from where his car is parked and start walking in the opposite direction. He can’t do this, not to me and not right now. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. We’re supposed to scream, we’re supposed to fight each other. He’s not supposed to want to save me, not now, not ever again. How does he not understand the break-up protocol? He’s done it more times than I have.

  “Joey, I won’t tell you again—”

  “Last time I checked, Zephyr, I can do whatever the hell I want when the hell I want to,” I shout back. “If I want to walk home, then screw you, I’m walking home.” Spinning, I start stomping toward the road, putting as much distance as my tiny legs will allow between us. I should look for Milo and endure Alexia to ask for a ride home but my mind stopped working correctly three beers ago.

  “God damn it, you’re so stubborn,” he shouts.

  I stop, planting my feet. “I’m stubborn,” I say barely loud enough for anyone to hear. I turn around; facing Zephyr as he charges toward me. “I’m stubborn! How dare you call me stubborn? You’re more stubborn and hardheaded than anyone I have ever met.”

  “Obviously you haven’t dared to look in the mirror lately.” He rolls his eyes. “Now, I’m taking you home, Joey. Don’t. Fight. Me.”

  “Fuck that, Zephyr. I don’t listen to you anymore,” I yell.

  “When the hell did you ever
listen to me?”

  “JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!”

  He steps back, his hands quickly pulling through his hair as he decides what he’s going to do. I’ve decided I don’t wish to go anywhere with him. I saw him, I saw him with her, and I don’t want to be anywhere near him right now. He should just go back to Blondie.

  “I’m not dealing with this shit right now.”

  “Have a great life, Zeph,” I call over my shoulder as I stomp toward the dirt road, ready to hoof it back to Lynnwood. That’s a good sixteen miles and five hours but I can do it.

  If no one takes me for hostage on the way.

  But before I even step a fuzzy boot on gravel, a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist, lifting me from the grass and carrying me, spinning me around toward the parking lot. I kick out my legs, hoping to hit flesh but settling for shin. He still doesn’t drop me. “Put me down!” I scream, catching the attention of anyone and everyone surrounding us. “Zephyr! Put me down. I told you I don’t need you.”

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  “Zephyr. Let go of me.” I beat my hands against his arms, hitting until I know I’ve bruised him, hearing every grunt as I connect again and again with the same spot—but his grip only tightens around me. The beer churns in my stomach. Not sickeningly—just enough to redistribute my drunkenness. “Unhand me, you rogue!” I shout before I realize it.

  That filter between the brain and the mouth, well mine has stopped working.

  “What the—?”

  “Don’t make me unleash the kraken, you fiend!”

  I can hear Zephyr laughing, feel his body bounce with every chuckle. “You’ve been spending too much time on the internet.”

  I release a low growl, fighting his every move and make every threat and saying every random phrase my mind can create—Don’t besmirch my honor!—but I find myself back at the little blue car. Back where it all, well, not started…

  The passenger door to his car is wide open as he sets me beside it, body blocking any escape attempt I could make.