Between You and I

Chapter Seven

May 11, 2012: 30 Hours Before

I managed to slip past my mom’s built in lie detector, telling her that I was going to hang out with Charlie over at his house and would be late back home. One of the many perks of having a mom like her was that 1. She held trust as her first priority, so she trusted me with going out and being responsible. 2. If you told her you’ll be really late coming home, she wouldn’t get pissed if you arrive at two in the morning and 3. She wasn't friends with Charlie’s dad. Meaning she wouldn't call up his house and ask whether I’m being a good boy or not.

Technically, I wasn't lying to her. 1. I was being responsible by making sure Charlie didn't screw up big time when being drunk (trust me, he could cause a fucking hurricane), 2. I was coming home late and told her so, therefore honoring our agreement, and 3. I would be a good boy (man, I mean). I was planning to stay sober, if you had to know. I wasn't really huge on the whole alcohol thing. Sure, it was nice to have a drink once in awhile, but it’s just a drink.

It took ten minutes to get to Charlie’s house, only seconds for him to hop in the passenger seat, and even less to have started our way down the road.

“Finally. Out of that hellhole.” He muttered under his breath as he put his feet up on the dashboard. Usually, I’d yell at anyone who does that, but I knew that yelling at him would be a waste of energy.

To be honest, it wasn't hard to agree with him on the fact that his house was an actual hellhole for anyone who lived there. His parents were divorced and tossed him back and forth like a tennis ball. Not to mention his dad was a drunkard playboy who gets into a lot of fist fights with his victims' boyfriends and his mom’s a therapist who treats him like he has a major problem.

Charlie lived mostly with his dad here, but he said he’d hate it just as much living with his mom. Sometimes, I really worry. I didn’t want him to end up a drunkard or grow up to treat everyone like they all have problems he doesn’t have time for because that isn’t the best friend I have, and I’d hate it if I let him slip away like that. I’d hate myself if that ever happened.

“Okay, you remember the rules, right?”

“I guess so...?” A year ago, this senior- Mark Henderson- invited all the juniors and seniors for some party. Let’s just say that Charlie regretted a lot of the things he himself didn’t remember doing. Since then, he’d crafted a list of rules (that I alone have to follow) to prevent him from making an idiot out of his ass.

“Recite them.”

“Don’t we recite stuff too much at school alrea-”

“Just recite them, Dan.” Good Lord.

“Um... Don’t get drunk... Keep an eye on you...” My mind slugged along as I made sure that most of my attention was still on the road ahead.

“If a lady turns you down, make sure you don’t do something like...” I blanked at the end, so what came out was, “Rape?”

“God, no! Jesus Christ! Dude, we went over this. 1. Don’t get drunk-” He whacked the side of my head and pulled a yelp out of my mouth.

“Say it with me! 1. One don’t get drunk-” Ahhhhhhh fuck. The words tumbled out of my mouth a few seconds after Charlie, and I learned the rules as we went.

I think he made me recite: “1. Don’t get drunk so I can keep an eye on you,

2. If a lady turns you down, make sure you don’t start yelling and rage quitting,

3. Prevent drugs from entering your system (especially the weed brownies),

4. Slap you if you suggest a threesome,