𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢

I was windswept in every sense of the word. The autumn brisk cold was turning more and more bitter as the days passed. It was the weekend, and I had a dinner date with a boy I didn't even like. In fact, it was my first date ever (unless I am I counting that sort of date I had with Charlie to see Neil's play). Regardless of what it was categorized as, I was not looking forward to it.

I met up with Elliot at 5 pm sharp. We were expected to be at his parents' house at 6 pm, leaving us with half an hour in case of traffic. It was freezing as I waited for him. Luckily for me, Charlie had lent me his coat. He said something about remembering him with that stupid smirk on his face.

My face was turning red from the cold, and Elliot was nowhere to be seen. The sun was setting quickly, and I was standing out in the parking lot by myself. Eventually, around 5:10, I noticed a pair of headlights. He drove a beautiful red 1957 Ford Thunderbird. It must've cost him a pretty penny. "Y/n, sorry. I couldn't find you." He said as he rolled down his window. "You look stunning."

Quickly putting his car into park, he stepped out and took my hand graciously. Bringing my hand up to his lips, he kissed me. "Let's just get going." I sighed, pulling out of his grasp. I heard him clear his throat, like he didn't like me taking charge like that. He then walked me to the passenger side, opening the door for me.

"You know," He said as he sat down behind the wheel. "I'm not bad like Charlie has made me out to be." He took the car out of park, beginning to drive. Part of me believed him. I knew Charlie was jealous of Elliot, so it could vary well be that he had a false idea of who Elliot was. On the other hand, Charlie could be completely correct.

"I know." I replied, not falling for his trap. I didn't want an argument. I didn't want him acting as if he knew all. "Charlie's not bad either."

"Oh, I knew that." Elliot chuckled, driving carefully. "He's just insecure, is all. I understand. I was like that too when I was maybe... fifteen?" His arrogance was thick and made it hard to breathe. He was insulting Charlie behind his back, but covering it up with different words. I could see deeper than he thought I could.

This was another trap of his, and I wasn't going to fall in. "Let's not talk about Charlie." I said, folding my arms in front of my body.

"Mm, good idea, darling." His voice was sickly sweet, full of sugar and honey. It wasn't too perfect. "Let's talk about dinner?"

"Sure, but please just call me y/n." I responded, not wanting to hear another pet name roll off of his tongue as if he had been calling me that for decades. He glanced over at me, laughing under his breath. "I'm serious, Elliot."

"Alright, doll." He replied, making my blood boil. I tried to ignore it, but it lingered inside me like a parasite.

"Shut up." I finally said, looking out the window. I heard his laugh again. Was it funny to see me mad? God, I had to deal with two hours of this, didn't I?

"Charlie can call you that, but I can't?" He asked, knowing he was driving me insane.

"I told you to stop talking about Charlie." My voice was grim, a quiet switch to tenor. "Elliot, I'm doing this dinner shit for you so you could at least try to be nice."

"I am being nice. You're the one overreacting." He remained calm, but his knuckles were turning white from holding the steering wheel.

I couldn't believe the words that dripped out his mouth—honey turning into ants. "You're a fucking psycho." I grabbed a cigarette out of my bag with shaky hands. "Holy shit." I lit it, beginning to smoke in his car.

"Not in here." He said, glancing to my cigarette. I ignored him, staring him deep in the eyes. "I said not in here. Get that fucking thing out of your mouth. Now."

"No." I said, continuing to stare at him. He quickly pulled over. I still remained looking at him.

"Throw it out." He said, his voice more stern. It wasn't his usual apocalyptic, postmodern, artful tone.

I refused to answer, eventually blowing the smoke back into his face. "No, darling." I said, spitting his words like a gun.

"Fine." He put the car into park and got out. I watched him, utterly confused. He came around to my side, opening the door. "Out."

"What do you mean?" I asked, his eyes almost bloodshot with anger.

"Get out." He reached inside, and I went stiff. I remained still as he unbuckled my seat belt. "Get the fuck out of my car, y/n."

I was afraid of him. His words bounced off my brain like echos in a stadium. Booming. Loud. Obnoxious. He took my arm, yanking me out of the car. His hand left a bright red mark. "What are you doing?" My voice was as shaky as my hands, causing Elliot to let out a small laugh.

"Going to dinner." He replied with a twisted smile. He then slammed my door shut, went to his side, and drove off. I was left there, overcast with a chance of snow. Alone.