Surviving Us

Chapter 3

I woke with the Magic Mike menu screen playing softly, and taco wrappers on my bed. I smiled slightly remembering how sweet Callan had been about the while ordeal with Drake, but was downed at the fact that Callan wanted to kill Drake...
But anyway, I stood and stretched, clicked my TV off, and quielty made my way to the bathroom. I did my thing, washed my hands, and began brushing my teeth. Toothbrush still in my mouth, I walked out of my room to find clothes, when, I looked up and saw Drake sitting on the edge of my bed. My toothbrush hit the floor. Wow, hit me first, slam me against a wall, put your hands around my neck and ruin my toothbrush, yet I still stay with you, I thought to myself. His legs bounced up and down, and he seemed in unusually high spirits.
"Lacey!" His eyes lit up when he saw me. He jumped up off of my bed and practically ran across the room and picked me up and spun me around. He kissed me briefly and enlaced his fingers with mine.
"Are you okay?" He asked, sliding the shoulder of my shirt off to see if I still had bruises.
"Look, I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean it. Please forgive me." He pleaded. His lip trembled, and he lightly caressed my chin.
"I'm sorry..." His eyes frantically searched mine.
"I'm fine," I said quite boldly, which made him smile. He stood at only about 5'6", and his eyes were a dark shade of brown, and he had shaggy brown hair that hung in front of his eyes. He was gorgeous and had it all. He was an all-star football player, leanly built, the works.
"Today," he said, "we're going out together." I shook my head.
"Hold on,' I said, artfully moving myself out from his arms and picked up the toothbrush. I walked to the bathroom, dropped the toothbrush into the garbage can, and moved to the door, hand on the inside knob, ready to slam shut if I needed too. I nonchalantly crossed one ankle in front of the other and met his eyes.
"What if I already have plans today?" I asked. He looked dumbfounded.
"I'm your boyfriend, who could you possibly have plans with if it's not me?" The sad thing is that he was being serious, like he thought I didn't have friends or something.
"I have friends, too." I said softly, as to not provoke him.
"Oh," his face fell.
"I'm sorry," I said moving towards him. I slipped my arms around his waist. When it was good, it was great. But when he drank...
He returned the embrace, and pressed his lips to my forehead. At moments like these, I wasn't afraid of him. I knew he wouldn't hurt me in these moments. His father was an alcoholic, and to deal with the stress his parents put him through, he drank sometimes, too. I'd come to accept it, you know, that he would get violent when he drank. It was his way to cope, and we all have ways to cope. Through art, music, sex, drugs, drinking... And I had to respect that. I, personally, coped with art and music. Of course, I never let anyone see the things I created. There was something freeing in creating something for you, and only you.