Fall From Grace (4 page)

"Buck up Stella. I'm not asking you to MARRY these guys, but at least if you seemed interested then I could rest a little easier knowing that there wasn't something more deep-rooted that we aren't talking about here. Now be honest. Have you switched teams? You can tell me you know? Oh God. Are you in love with ME?" She's joking. I think. But it's now pissing me off.

"For the love of pete Gabby, although I think we would make a lovely couple and be the hit of the wet dream world for the guys at school, I am not in love with you, nor am I gay. I just - I just haven't found what I'm looking for yet... " I trail off as I scan the room trying to see if anyone would fit my wish list, but sadly all I see is faded glittery make up and slobbering hook ups that does nada for me.

"How do you know what it is that you're looking for if you don't ever try anything on?" she adds.

"Are we talking about guys here, or miniskirts?" I let out a forced giggle/hiccup. Classy.

"Stop it Stella, you know what I mean. You lounge around the house all the time, holed up in your room either on your computer or with your head stuck in those witchy vamp books or whatever they are," she lets out a big sigh and does a flip to her side pony tail, and turns to face me head on with a look that makes my stomach drop.

"AND I have to tell you this because I love you - but Stella, if you are waiting for some magician to come around and change you into a faerie witch goddess, honey that is never going to happen. You have got to stop hiding yourself and join the REAL world. Start dating a normal guy at SOME point and leave the vampires to Twilighters."
 

The look in her eyes was pleading and full of worry, like she pitied me. She gripped my hands and held on like this was some sort of intervention. Is that what she thinks of me? My God. I know I'm a tad obsessed with the supernatural, but who isn't these days? You can't turn a TV on without some new show about werewolves or ghost whisperers.
 

Since I can remember, I've always been fascinated by all things dark and spooky. I love horror movies, I read about witchcraft and demonology. I've even tried Ouija boards (crap), and séances (total crap). I love everything and anything to do with this kind of stuff, I've been drawn to it, but you would never know it just by looking at me. I thought I was keeping my obsessions on the D.L. Now I'm not so sure.

I'm not a goth chick. I don't hang with Emos. I don't wear pounds of black eye liner and worship the devil or anything remotely like that. Looking at me you would think that what I dreamt about was winning prom queen, getting into a decent college or making out with Zac Ephron.

I didn't truly think those things existed outside of my imagination. Did I? My best friend thinks I'm a nerdy freak waiting for Edward Cullen to take me to prom. Oh God. The vodka was making my head spin. She starts up again, but I think I've heard enough.

"I mean, guys check you out ALL the time, but you always seem so spaced out and disinterested. Are they not good enough for you? Are you dying to get away from us that bad?"
 

Balls. She just grouped herself in there. I'm leaving Alessa in the fall for New York, can't wait for it. Gabs is staying home to work at the studio full time, but I haven't really wanted to think too much about that. I always thought maybe she would change her mind and come with me in the 11
th
hour. We haven't had this conversation yet, I guess it was inevitable and tonight presented a great 'in' for her.

"Gabby, I truly do NOT think that. Who do you think I am? Of course you're good enough for me. It's just that I... " trailing off. What can I say here? That I was always thinking I was different somehow. I never felt like I fit into the typical teenage girl model, but then again who really does anyways? Aren't we all just a bit awkward and self conscious, unsure where we fit into the high school hierarchy. I knew this, but I also felt like I was on the outside looking in. Obsessed with all these paranormal stories and feeling somehow connected to it in a way that I could never explain. I chalked it up to my 'lifeline'. That
thing
you cling to in an effort to feel special. That one
thing
you desperately need that makes you feel interesting, passionate, and unique. That
thing
you dream about that gets you through the tough days. The days you don't think you can move forward another inch. That one
thing
that will save you.
 

It all sounded crazy in my head so there is no way I am telling her this. She'll have me committed.
 

"I'm just really looking forward to going to Parson's, starting a new school and having an adventure. And I don't want to have any loose ends, like a new boyfriend, that will make it harder then it will be to leave. I want to focus on school right now. That's all." Phew, that sounded almost intelligent. "I love you Gabby, I always will. You know that right?"
 

She pushed my sagging bangs back up with a sigh, looking sad and deflated, "Cheri, I don't mean to upset you. I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you, and feeling a little nostalgic tonight thinking this is the last themed high school party and you're leaving in a few months. I dunno, maybe deep down I wanted you to meet someone, fall in love and stay home with me. I mean, who am I going to play screw, marry, kill with?" Her mouth went up at the corner into a semi-grin, trying to lighten the mood.
 

I hold onto her hands tight, perhaps too tight, but I need her to know this and understand me, "I'll always be there for you Gabby. ALWAYS. No matter how far apart we are." My gaze travels down to our clasped hands. The boozy haze is making me feel like a depressed crap head.
 

"I just need to get out of this town for a bit, stretch my legs and figure out who I really am." I feel tears brimming. Gabs shakes our hands apart and sits up straight pulling my face up to her.
 

"Shit Stells, can you just forget I said all that? I'm being a big whiny Bitch. Enough with the mopey mope, this is a party right? Quick. Ok, Simon Cowell. Barrack Obama. And... Hugh Hefner."

With a sigh, I sit up straighter and turn back towards the crowd. Does anyone here in this house really know me at all? Do I even know any of them either? Do I even know myself? I thought Gabs was the one person who really got me, but now I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm a nutbar. I can't think about this now. Time to push the darkness down into my gut and figure out my teenage identity crisis later.

"I would screw Hugh, marry Barrack and kill Simon."

"You'd screw Hugh?"

"Well I AM a little curious about why those hot playboys fawn all over him. Maybe he's a dynamo in the sack?" Looking back to Gabs, I cock a side grin as she gratefully smiles back at me.
 
Only a few more months to go and I can leave this all behind. I'll miss Gabs more than I want to think about, but I refuse to turn this night into a pity party. Gabs leans in for a big hug. There are some issues here we'll eventually have to get through but tonight I don't want to think about the future. I just want to finish my drink and feel the alcohol wash my insecurities away. I glance over to the beer pong table, young Hugh Jackman looks over and holds up his plastic red cup in a greeting. Maybe he's a nice guy. I grab Gabs and pull her off the counter.

"Let's go find Todd, I feel the need to bong something."

"The rules Stella Grace, don't forget the rules." Although her warning sounds stern, she likes to have a good time and that would include watching me spit out an entire beer. We make our way over to the pong arena.

Across the street a woman in a black sports car stares at the large victorian house as if she can see through it. A smile forms on her lips as if recalling an old memory. After a few moments she starts the engine into a purr and pulls away from the curb, quickly picking up speed as she heads north. The street lights suddenly kick in, lighting up the street one by one as she passes under them.

Oh God, please stop that evil hammering in my skull. It feels like a thousand snares having a 'drum off' in my head. I try to lick my lips but I can't even muster a single drop of saliva, ugh, my mouth feels like Harve came and took a crap in it. What happened last night? I remember vodka, dancing on Tonya's kitchen counter, beer pong shots, dancing with Mr. Brown (Tonya's wiener dog), more vodka, dancing with Mr. Brown, Todd Winters AND his bong, then burgers in a drive thru... oooooh yaaaaaa. Rule #1 went out the window, or rather into the console. Gabs is going to MURDER me.
 

I attempt to roll away from the beastly bright windows with all the energy I have left but I've been ambushed. A big lick from a gigantic mammoth dog and I'm forced to open my eyes to The Big Harve, my huge, grey, Irish Wolfhound, who is sharing my pillow and gazing deep into my eyes with the 'look'. He wants to go for a gallop, kill me now. I manage to lie still a little while longer but I'm just feeling worse as the time creeps on. I need mouthwash and a vat of water. Regret is painful.

It's torture to get up, but I know I've got to get moving or my day will be shot. If I don't move my ass out of bed now, it will be spent in pj's with
Stephanie Meyer
and
Frito Lay
and I'll end up feeling worse because of it.
 

I crawl over Harve, and attempt a vertical. Hunched over with my hands on my night stand, I pause to let the room stop spinning before I slowly make my way to standing. Why do we do this on purpose to our bodies? Ugh. I drag my feet over to the bathroom and turn the cold water on full blast. Leaning over the sink with one hand on the basin, I attempt to flatten my hair, but can't even wiggle my fingers through my bangs, damn you
Final Net
.
 

Surveying my train wreck face, I marvel at the amount of time spent on make-up application and all I can show for it is some clumpy, dried mascara running down my cheek and a smeared yellow racing stripe that's made its way into my ear. Still crouched over, I slip both hands under the water and splash it up onto my face; the jolt momentarily startling me into a stream of steady curse words that go along the lines of Holy Puck. The first few minutes are killer, but it does get better as I'm able to pull myself up to a full stand. Harve desperately needs me, this I know. I've been neglecting him lately and I feel like a shitty dog owner. He owes me big time though.

 
Sensing my preparations a mile away, Harve leaps from my bed, leaving it vibrating in his wake. Barreling into the bathroom and up into my face, panting and pacing; his stinky breath makes my stomach flip. In all fairness to him, I must note that mine probably isn't much better as I require brushing my teeth a few times with paste AND scope just to feel a little more human.

 
"Yes Mr. Harve, I will be ready in a sec. I just need to give a few dry heaves and we'll be off."

 
I shove him out of the bathroom to finish getting ready; I need a moment to pee and a bucket of aspirin. When I emerge in my sloppy sweats and baseball cap to tame the bangs, I grab a few chips from the bag that I apparently slept with and we are out the door, Breakfast of Champions. The house is silent as I grab some water from the fridge and peek out the back windows to see where Dad might be, probably in the barn. He loves it out there, puttering up a storm.
 

 
I slip out the back doors and down the deck steps to ground level as Harve bolts past me chasing a scared shitless squirrel into one of our birch trees. It's a surprisingly warm day. Sun/cloud/rain mix as the weatherman would say. Might as well cover all bases, we would REALLY hate to know what the day will actually hold. I'm glad it isn't too cold though as I just threw on a thin CBGB t-shirt that I scored in that the second hand shop in town. Time to sweat out the hangover.

 
I start my pace off slow and make my way across the back yard. I say yard but it's more like a back farm. We have about 10 acres to the property, comprised of clusters of trees and grasses. Directly out back to the right is our large veggie garden, which is awesome, but I still can't figure out what to do with 12 heads of lettuce. There's only so much salad a girl can take; I'm almost wishing for a wee family of rabbits to move on in and help themselves to the buffet.

 
Beyond the garden, still on the right, is the big grey barn. Dad's domain. He has a good set up in there, room to build something if he was inclined to do so (which he isn't), a place to garden (which he doesn't), plus he has a bunch of rocks and Geologist paraphernalia that he keeps on display. He spray painted the interior a light grey last year and fixed it up to be a lot less rustic so I think he just comes out here to clear his head, putter around and have some alone time. Living with a teenage girl can't be easy I'm sure. Sometimes I catch him staring out the side window like a statue for hours it seems. I can't help but wonder what he's thinking about.

 
I glimpse Dad through the big double barn doors that are open on the west side and give him a little shout out. I must make him aware of what I'm doing so that he would never think that I yakked in Gabs' Subaru last night.

 
"Hiya Dad. Taking Harve out, be back in half!" I wave and grin a big fake smile. Dad glances up with a wide smirk, and I know he hasn't missed a trick.

 
"Have a good one Stells. Make sure you drink lots of water to re-hydrate!" he says with a nice big emphasis on 'hydrate'. Balls. It's ok though. He'll tease me a bit, give me a few stern words on teen drinking, but he knows it rarely happens and we're always responsible about it. Plus I'm 18 in a few weeks – nearly an adult! I still can't drink but I can vote, who made THAT rule?