Ms. Popularity

9 |Fights

"Why are you so angry at me right now?" Chris questions. I walked him up to his room, not trusting his clouded judgement.
"I'm not." I say, leaning against his desk chair.
"Your face seems to disagree." He lets out a high pitched laugh.
"How much did you drink?" I wonder out loud. I hated dealing with people while they had no soberness in their system.
"Anything you didn't."
"You drank everything I didn't take? Shit, Lowe. That's way to much." I sigh, rubbing my eyes in frustration at his childish behaviour.
"Are you worried about me?" He questions. I don't answer, so he goes on getting ready for bed. He pulls his v-neck over his head, exposing toned muscle. I want to look away.
"No." I say, my voice slightly higher than I want it to be.
"I'm alright, aren't I?" He stumbles, and I quickly go towards him. I break his fall, grabbing his waist. I'm suddenly aware of how close we are, I can feel the alcohol on his breath. I don't move, mesmerised by his state. His eyes are a muddy brown, but he somehow makes the colour beautiful.
Shaking some sense into myself, I guide him towards his bed, helping him onto his side.
"You should remember, this entire thing was your idea. I won't be the girlfriend, even a fake one, of any guy that flirts with another girl right in front of my eyes." He doesn't answer, but I stand for a moment, hoping he isn't asleep. I state at him, startled of the noise as the door opens.
"Hey Zo, come out here for a minute." Chloe's soft voice reaches my ears, lifting me from my trance.
I join her in the hallway, gently shutting the bedroom door.
"I was just making sure he got into bed okay. He wasn't feeling well at the party and..."
"I'm not an idiot. I know he was drinking," I shift my weight from one foot to the other, slightly embarrassed under her stare, "Thank you for getting him home. Who knows where he'd be if you didn't."
"I should...I have to get home." I turn on my heel and make my way towards the front door.
"You might just be his fake girlfriend, whatever that actually means. But you'll do good for him. He hasn't brought such a nice girl home in a long time." She calls after me.

•
I'm already wearing a fresh face of make-up when I go downstairs, but I'm still in my plaid pyjama bottoms and a tank top. I debate changing, my father hates it when we don't look proper. "Just because you're at home,Zoe, it doesn't mean you can look like a slob." I don't change, knowing he won't be home anyway, but I'm surprised to find mother sitting at the kitchen table.
"Where were you last night?" My mom asks.
"I was out with some of my friends. It was Friday, and I was back before curfew." I say, not wanting to get into a long conversation.
"And we agreed you'd make an effort to spend time with your father." My mom shoots back.
"And I did give an effort, mom. But it's pretty hard to keep trying when he won't do the same." I exclaim.
"Don't say that."
"Say what? The truth? Because it's pretty hard to keep avoiding it," I say, throwing my hands up in exasperation. My mom leans back against her seat, burying her head in her hands, "I'm going to visit Aunt Stephanie."
"That's exactly my point, Zoe! You spend more time with your aunt - who barely even knows who you are - than your own father!" She yells.
She shouldn't not have said that. I can see a bit of regret crossing her features, but I instantly shoot down any apology she might present.
"I wouldn't have to if he wasn't always away!" I yell back.
"You can't keep saying that."
"Oh my god. Why don't you get it?" I cry out, "He shut us out! Both of us. Why don't you understand that?"
Her face goes serious, here lips form a thin, straight line.
"Go see you aunt. Go anywhere you want. Go do anything you want. But don't come back until you can look at things the right way."
We stand there for a minute, both of us angry - just not for the same reason. I grab my phone from the counter top, only stopping to put on boots before I storm out the door.

Out in the chilly air, I realize that I have nowhere to do. So I sit down on the front steps, rubbing my exposed skin. Someone's voice interrupts my thoughts, making me jump.

"Z! My bad. You okay?"

"Isaac? Why are you here?" I sound rude, but I can't correct myself.
"You left your jacket in my car. I tried calling, but you didn't pick up. I, um, thought you might need it. Looks like I was right," he gestures to my thin top.
"My phone was off." I explain, slipping into my coat - welcoming the heat.
"Are you okay? You don't look okay. I mean, not that you don't look fine. But...are you okay?" His rambling makes me smile, and I suddenly feel calm in his company. That's the thing about Isaac, he always makes a person relax.
"No, I'm not actually." I chuckle, wiping at my slightly tear-filled eyes.
"What happened? Do you want me to take you over to Chris' place?" He asks, concern over his features.
"No, no I don't want to
See Chris right now," I bite my tongue, worried I sounded too hostile, "I need to be somewhere else."
"Oh. Well, do you need a ride?" He asks, hesitation woven into his voice.
"Can I trust you?"
I know I shouldn't tell him. I know I shouldn't tell anyone -
I haven't even told my best friends. But I need to talk to someone. Because, suddenly, it's all just too much.