Drunk or Sober

Being Bad (At All Things Including Pretending to be Bad)

FRIDAY 3/19

I came to the realization that I no longer wanted to be this welcome mat that everybody got to freaking step on.

I wasn't going to be this good guy anymore.

By saying that, I meant that I'd attempt being something that I wasn't necessarily the best at.

Bad.

Though, actually, I did happen to be bad, at everything that is, but being a rebellious teenager with no fucks to give wasn't exactly in my forte.

I was trying hard. For one, As soon as I got home, I snook downstairs and drank my mom's expensive wine.

I got a stomach ache instead. Oh well, maybe that was like what getting drunk felt like?

I figured I'd give beer a try instead. I knew there was two cases of beer in the fridge down in the basement. My dad left them there the last time he visited in an attempt to have me throw at least one party during the course of my senior year. From the looks of it, Lennox would definitely more likely throw a party than I would.

I know, I'm weak. But alcohol's just not me, yet it's practically engraved in the being bad rule book.

I figured I could get at least a little drunk. It couldn't be that hard, could it?

I got in my car and drove to Harleigh's, one case of beer sitting in the passenger seat teasing me. I pulled into her driveway and paused.

I didn't want to be the good guy.

With that thought drilled into my mind, I opened up the case and managed to chug down the entirety of the cold, glassed liquid.

It didn't sit right with me. I felt normal though.

Six bottles later, I thought I was good to go.

My head was spinning and my stomach ache got worse, which was just reminder this was all working.

Honestly though, who the fuck would want to feel like this?

My feet felt heavy and I couldn't grip the handle of the door properly, so I honked my car horn.

Two minutes later, Harleigh dashed out from the house wearing the fuzzy black robe she had on that time we... Let's not bring that one up again.

"Wes? What the fuck are you doing here?" She opened my car door and stared at me, confused.

I blinked three times before her face wasn't a complete optical illusion. "Harleigh, babe!" I grabbed her hand and kissed it.

"Wes, are you wasted?" She inspected the empty bottles that I had tossed in the back seat.

"Are you?"

She narrowed her eyebrows, accompanied by her notorious Harleigh Wren Queen what-the-fuck frown. "I'm very much sober."

"Surprised. It's a Friday. You'd usually be halfway down my pants by n-"

"Scoot over. I'll drive you home."

"Home? Why are we going?"

"My parents are here."

"Their car's not here. I'm not stupid, Harleigh, though you probably wish I was, so I'd shut up and be a good guy. Ryder's inside, isn't he? What'll it take to show you I'm better, huh?" I moved into the passenger seat and she sat in my original spot. I placed my hand on her thigh. She looked at me, confused.

"Wes, what the-"

I kissed her. Sloppily. Basically pushing myself onto her. She pulled away and studied me for a second.

Then I felt her palm crash against my cheek. It was stinging.

"Ow! Harleigh, what was that-"

"You're acting like a real ass right now."

"And you're a bitch on a daily basis."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Says who, huh?"

"Doesn't matter. We're even."

"Everyone likes me."

"Yeah, well everyone's also fucking terrified of you."

"If you can't make them love you, make 'em fear you."

"That's some fucked up logic."

"Take notes, Wesley Campbell."

"Is this the part where we make out?"

"I should slap you again for that snarky fucking comment, Wes." She kissed me. Harleigh was so confusing.

"Is that guy giving you a hard time, Har?" A random voice.

My head was still spinning, I couldn't tell who was shouting from the Queen household. I opened the car door and stepped out.

"She's fine." I didn't even know what the hell I was saying.

Harleigh ran in front of me. She looked at me and whispered. "Shut the fuck up, Wes."

"Who the fuck are you?"

I cleared my throat. "Me? Who am I? Your worst nightmare." I burst into laughter. Even though it didn't sound so funny out loud, it was sure as hell fucking hilarious in my head.

Apparently it wasn't so funny to Harleigh's mysterious guest though, because the next thing I knew I was laying down on the sofa in my own living room, my nose was throbbing, I could barely see in my right eye, and Ramona was handing me an icy package of broccoli.