just tell yourself I'll Be Okay (Filled: 1335 words)
She’s at a house party. She doesn’t know the host, but she knows his cousin or something. Whatever. She saw it on Facebook and clicked Attending, and now she’s here, hanging out in the kitchen because she doesn’t really know anyone, but shit like that doesn’t matter in the kitchen. The kitchen is where the alcohol is. Where there’s alcohol, drunkenness is soon to follow. Karen wants to be drunk tonight, spectacularly so.
“Tequila!” someone announces, lining up glasses and messily pouring shots. Karen picks one up, waits her turn to salt her hand and picks up a wedge of lime. “Three, two, one!” Tequila, salt, lime. She slams her glass down and hopes there’s more.
Three tequilas later, Karen’s more drunk and the kitchen’s less full. Some people wandered off in pairs to fuck, or in groups to get high or find food. Karen’s drinking rum, straight from the bottle. She thinks that maybe she should be ashamed of herself.
“Don’t I know you?”
“If that’s the start of a chat up line, it’s shit and you can fuck off.” Karen is proud of herself for only slurring a little bit.
“No, really, I think I know you from somewhere.”
She turns to look. He’s ginger and dressed like he wandered through a charity shop throwing items on at random. “Well, I don't know you.”
“I’m Alo,” he says, cheerfully, sticking his hand out for her to shake.
She doesn’t take his hand, instead staring at it as if it’s something filthy. His nails are in terrible condition. She’s appalled. “Good for you.”
“Oh. Right. So, what are you drinking?”
She shakes her bottle of rum at him, wordlessly.
“Look, I’m not trying to fuck you.”
“What the fuck?” Karen shrieks.
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, not in a bad way. Just, I mean... I really think I know you from somewhere, and I just wondered... I just wanted to know. That’s all. Really.” The boy, Alo, looks flustered and embarrassed.
“So you’re not trying to chat me up?”
“No. I wouldn't even bother trying. We both know you’re way out of my league, even drunk.”
She smiles. “Definitely. I’m Karen. I was on TV once. Maybe you saw me.”
“Oh? What were you on?”
“Search for a Sexx Bomb.” Karen rolls her eyes. She finds it disgusting and humiliating now. She can’t believe she did that. The Karen that went on that show and the Karen she is now are two completely different people. The closest this Karen has been to fame was her photograph in the newspaper when the police found her brother’s body.
Alo grins, his face lighting up. “You’re the Ass 2 Ass girl, right? And, oh, what was that other one? Juicing Down.”
“Yep, that’s me.” Karen takes another generous swig of rum. She’s not drunk enough to be having this conversation. She wants to be so drunk that she can’t even have a conversation.
“Wow.”
“If you wanked over me, I don't want to know about it.”
“Uh...okay.”
“Great. So, is that all you wanted? Just to know why I looked familiar and definitely not to chat me up?”
He shrugs. “You looked lonely.”
“I’m not. And I don't want your pity.”
“That’s good then, because you’re not getting any.” He grins cheekily. His smile disarms her enough that he snatches her rum and nearly chokes when she grabs it back.
“Hey!”
He splutters a bit, wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “It’s not actually yours, though, is it? You can’t claim ownership of a bottle picked up from the kitchen table of a house party.”
“I can’t?”
“No.”
Karen arches an eyebrow, in challenge. “Who says?”
“Well, it’s just a rule, isn’t it? It’s like...party etiquette. You’re kind of required by the laws of house parties to share that bottle of rum with me. I mean, you don’t have to, obviously, but...”
She offers him the bottle. They sit at the table in the mostly empty kitchen, passing the rum back and forth, trading tales of past party experiences, of being pissed and of pissing in plant pots or vomiting in handbags.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Karen asks abruptly, interrupting another of Alo’s stories about getting kicked out of someone’s house because his mate kept fucking with the playlist. It seems to be a common theme.
“Um. No. Do you?”
She giggles. She knows from the fact that she’s giggling that she’s pretty fucking drunk. Also from the way that she is gripping the side of her chair to stop herself from tilting sideways and sliding to the floor. “I’m not gay. I am a bit bar-sexual though, you know? Like, I like to kiss girls when I’m drunk. I like to kiss anyone when I’m drunk.”
“Um. Thanks? For...sharing that knowledge. I think, on that note, I should probably call a taxi and take you home.”
“You already want to go home with me?”
Alo’s eyes widen and he blushes. It’s adorable. “No, no, no, not like that. I mean, you know, not... You’re a very attractive girl, you really are, and I’d absolutely love to, you know, but... No. I just meant... You’re drunk and I wanna make sure you get home safely.”
Something about him in this moment reminds her of her brother. The reminder is painful. She feels her bottom lip begin to quiver and she blinks back tears.
“Oh, fuck, don’t cry!”
“I’m not,” she insists, even though she’s almost definitely going to start crying and it’s going to be horribly embarrassing. “You just... You’re sweet. You’re really sweet.” She stops, takes a deep breath to steady herself. “You remind me of my brother.”
“Oh. Is that...a bad thing?”
Karen shrugs. “Can you take me home now, please?” She feels overwhelmed, unable to deal with calling a taxi, but Alo takes care of it. They wait outside and they smoke while they wait, Alo giving her a cigarette because she quit, she always quits, and lighting it for her, and lending her his jacket when she shivers. “You’re so sweet,” she whispers, holding his hand in the back of the taxi, leaning forward to tell the driver her address. They both get out at her house, and they split the fare, Alo emptying change from his pockets.
Karen is still holding his hand as she leads him to the shed. She hasn’t been inside here since that stupid birthday party that he wasn’t even at, because he was already fucking dead by then and they just didn’t know it yet. “This is the shed,” she tells Alo, solemnly.
“I’m kind of getting the feeling that it’s not just a normal garden shed...”
Karen smiles sadly and squeezes his hand before she lets go. “It’s my brother’s.”
“Will he mind that I’m in here?”
“Not really. I miss him.” She sighs, wanders over to sit on the armchair where she once walked in on him wanking.
“Is he away at uni?”
“He died.” And then she starts to cry, choking on a sob and hating herself for it.
“Shit,” Alo mutters, sounding a little shocked. “I’m sorry.”
“He was m-murdered,” she tells him, her voice doing that horribly embarrassing choked up crying thing.
“I’m sorry,” Alo repeats, a little uselessly, but what else is there to say? What else is there to do except wipe her eyes and kiss him? He pushes her away, gently, hands on his shoulders to steady her. “I don’t... Are you sure?”
She nods, firmly. “Yes.” He reminds her so much of Freddie, and she misses him so much. She sobs again. “No. Just... please stay?” She tries to stop herself from begging.
“Of course I’ll stay.”
They make a bed out of sofa cushions, discarded items of clothing and a couple of blankets that smell slightly damp. The warm weight of his arm around her waist is comforting, stops her from feeling alone.
He is still there when she wakes in the morning.
“Tequila!” someone announces, lining up glasses and messily pouring shots. Karen picks one up, waits her turn to salt her hand and picks up a wedge of lime. “Three, two, one!” Tequila, salt, lime. She slams her glass down and hopes there’s more.
Three tequilas later, Karen’s more drunk and the kitchen’s less full. Some people wandered off in pairs to fuck, or in groups to get high or find food. Karen’s drinking rum, straight from the bottle. She thinks that maybe she should be ashamed of herself.
“Don’t I know you?”
“If that’s the start of a chat up line, it’s shit and you can fuck off.” Karen is proud of herself for only slurring a little bit.
“No, really, I think I know you from somewhere.”
She turns to look. He’s ginger and dressed like he wandered through a charity shop throwing items on at random. “Well, I don't know you.”
“I’m Alo,” he says, cheerfully, sticking his hand out for her to shake.
She doesn’t take his hand, instead staring at it as if it’s something filthy. His nails are in terrible condition. She’s appalled. “Good for you.”
“Oh. Right. So, what are you drinking?”
She shakes her bottle of rum at him, wordlessly.
“Look, I’m not trying to fuck you.”
“What the fuck?” Karen shrieks.
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, not in a bad way. Just, I mean... I really think I know you from somewhere, and I just wondered... I just wanted to know. That’s all. Really.” The boy, Alo, looks flustered and embarrassed.
“So you’re not trying to chat me up?”
“No. I wouldn't even bother trying. We both know you’re way out of my league, even drunk.”
She smiles. “Definitely. I’m Karen. I was on TV once. Maybe you saw me.”
“Oh? What were you on?”
“Search for a Sexx Bomb.” Karen rolls her eyes. She finds it disgusting and humiliating now. She can’t believe she did that. The Karen that went on that show and the Karen she is now are two completely different people. The closest this Karen has been to fame was her photograph in the newspaper when the police found her brother’s body.
Alo grins, his face lighting up. “You’re the Ass 2 Ass girl, right? And, oh, what was that other one? Juicing Down.”
“Yep, that’s me.” Karen takes another generous swig of rum. She’s not drunk enough to be having this conversation. She wants to be so drunk that she can’t even have a conversation.
“Wow.”
“If you wanked over me, I don't want to know about it.”
“Uh...okay.”
“Great. So, is that all you wanted? Just to know why I looked familiar and definitely not to chat me up?”
He shrugs. “You looked lonely.”
“I’m not. And I don't want your pity.”
“That’s good then, because you’re not getting any.” He grins cheekily. His smile disarms her enough that he snatches her rum and nearly chokes when she grabs it back.
“Hey!”
He splutters a bit, wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “It’s not actually yours, though, is it? You can’t claim ownership of a bottle picked up from the kitchen table of a house party.”
“I can’t?”
“No.”
Karen arches an eyebrow, in challenge. “Who says?”
“Well, it’s just a rule, isn’t it? It’s like...party etiquette. You’re kind of required by the laws of house parties to share that bottle of rum with me. I mean, you don’t have to, obviously, but...”
She offers him the bottle. They sit at the table in the mostly empty kitchen, passing the rum back and forth, trading tales of past party experiences, of being pissed and of pissing in plant pots or vomiting in handbags.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Karen asks abruptly, interrupting another of Alo’s stories about getting kicked out of someone’s house because his mate kept fucking with the playlist. It seems to be a common theme.
“Um. No. Do you?”
She giggles. She knows from the fact that she’s giggling that she’s pretty fucking drunk. Also from the way that she is gripping the side of her chair to stop herself from tilting sideways and sliding to the floor. “I’m not gay. I am a bit bar-sexual though, you know? Like, I like to kiss girls when I’m drunk. I like to kiss anyone when I’m drunk.”
“Um. Thanks? For...sharing that knowledge. I think, on that note, I should probably call a taxi and take you home.”
“You already want to go home with me?”
Alo’s eyes widen and he blushes. It’s adorable. “No, no, no, not like that. I mean, you know, not... You’re a very attractive girl, you really are, and I’d absolutely love to, you know, but... No. I just meant... You’re drunk and I wanna make sure you get home safely.”
Something about him in this moment reminds her of her brother. The reminder is painful. She feels her bottom lip begin to quiver and she blinks back tears.
“Oh, fuck, don’t cry!”
“I’m not,” she insists, even though she’s almost definitely going to start crying and it’s going to be horribly embarrassing. “You just... You’re sweet. You’re really sweet.” She stops, takes a deep breath to steady herself. “You remind me of my brother.”
“Oh. Is that...a bad thing?”
Karen shrugs. “Can you take me home now, please?” She feels overwhelmed, unable to deal with calling a taxi, but Alo takes care of it. They wait outside and they smoke while they wait, Alo giving her a cigarette because she quit, she always quits, and lighting it for her, and lending her his jacket when she shivers. “You’re so sweet,” she whispers, holding his hand in the back of the taxi, leaning forward to tell the driver her address. They both get out at her house, and they split the fare, Alo emptying change from his pockets.
Karen is still holding his hand as she leads him to the shed. She hasn’t been inside here since that stupid birthday party that he wasn’t even at, because he was already fucking dead by then and they just didn’t know it yet. “This is the shed,” she tells Alo, solemnly.
“I’m kind of getting the feeling that it’s not just a normal garden shed...”
Karen smiles sadly and squeezes his hand before she lets go. “It’s my brother’s.”
“Will he mind that I’m in here?”
“Not really. I miss him.” She sighs, wanders over to sit on the armchair where she once walked in on him wanking.
“Is he away at uni?”
“He died.” And then she starts to cry, choking on a sob and hating herself for it.
“Shit,” Alo mutters, sounding a little shocked. “I’m sorry.”
“He was m-murdered,” she tells him, her voice doing that horribly embarrassing choked up crying thing.
“I’m sorry,” Alo repeats, a little uselessly, but what else is there to say? What else is there to do except wipe her eyes and kiss him? He pushes her away, gently, hands on his shoulders to steady her. “I don’t... Are you sure?”
She nods, firmly. “Yes.” He reminds her so much of Freddie, and she misses him so much. She sobs again. “No. Just... please stay?” She tries to stop herself from begging.
“Of course I’ll stay.”
They make a bed out of sofa cushions, discarded items of clothing and a couple of blankets that smell slightly damp. The warm weight of his arm around her waist is comforting, stops her from feeling alone.
He is still there when she wakes in the morning.