Francine & Earl

Don't

He shifted on the bench, the weight of his wrists placing his shoulders at an awkward angle. They were locked behind him and adorned with the jewelry a person only got from breaking the law. Earl licked his lips and winced. The taste of dried blood and beer was on his tongue, and it wasn't the best combination in his opinion. The metallic tang filled his mouth while he focused on the one boot he still had on his foot, and wondered how he got here.

The police station was loud, filled with the belligerent rants of the heavily intoxicated and the absentminded clicks of pens on desks as the small town authorities waited for emergency situations that would never come. Yet, it couldn't compare to the music at the party.

It thrummed in time with the nervous racing of his pulse when he first stepped onto the trash littered lawn. The house was the usual, normal suburban white picket fence and potted plants establishment that still had some old Halloween decorations taped to the garage. He had been shoved in by the rest of the team when they stepped out of the quarterback's minivan, a vehicle he was proud of and would affectionately call Rusty Ruth.

He laughed with the other players that were stuffed into the back, his small form finally having some use while being squished between two hulking figures compared to his own. They entered the house as a team, hooting about the game they had barely won while playfully ruffling his hair because he was still the "new guy." Earl just shrugged it off with a semi-genuine smile, eyes flitting over the faces in the party as if he would actually see ones he recognized. His friends wouldn't be here, and it wasn't as if he expected them to. They didn't understand him; they didn't get that this was what he needed to be normal. If he had to change himself a little, then so be it.

He laughed when he got dragged into the kitchen by a few of the team members, the rest dispersing into the already thick crowd. The small home was filled to the brim with students from Dempsey, and Earl could only mutter apologies when he accidentally bumped into someone on his way.

He had been deposited in the kitchen and had a red cup shoved into his hand, and he almost couldn't believe how much this seemed like a scene in one of the cheesy movies him and Mae liked to binge on during nights like this.

Shaking his head to rid himself of thoughts on best friend, Earl gulped the liquid down to the cheers of the team members. It burned down his throat, and he immediately knew that it wasn't beer. It made him cough and splutter into the sleeve his newly gifted jacket with the team insignia emblazoned on the back, his skin turning red and the teasing getting louder.

Looking up with blurry eyes, Earl began cheering as well, not even knowing what for. He just watched the people who were little more than strangers filter out the room, promising to come and play beer pong on the pool table in the living room, before letting his perfectly crafted smile fall off his face.

This is what he wanted, right? To be one of them?

Yes, he told himself, and he was going to enjoy it. Taking another swig of whatever was in the cup, Earl walked into the living room and got onto the dance floor. He couldn't dance, but he didn't need to with liquid courage in his system. He winked at a girl who was watching his awkward shuffling on the makeshift dance floor, and he slipped a smirk onto his face when she came closer to him.

And closer.

And closer.

Closer.

Her back was pressed tightly to his chest while his arm was lazily draped over her waist. The red fabric of her dress bunched up against his jacket when she reached back to wrap her arms around his neck. The hum of the music combined with the buzz of liquor in his veins, and he didn't even have to think beyond the bass in the music and the twist of her hips until he was yanked off of the girl.

He looked up to see a guy yelling at him, spit flying out of his mouth as he wildly gestured between Earl and the girl in the red dress who looked like his little sister. He eventually gave up when he saw Earl wasn't listening, dragging the girl away and out the door. Earl had just shrugged before chugging more of his drink down, tongue curling around the last drop while he stumbled in the kitchen for more.

He was pouring himself a drink when the police burst through the door.

Kids scattered through the house, rushing out the backdoor and disappearing on the staircase, leaving the dumb and slow ones behind. Earl was sadly in that category, and was caught with his eyes wide and hands gripping his alcohol filled red cup.

He was put into the back of the squad car after some unbalanced maneuvering of his drunken form, nose smacking against the door hard, the crack causing blood to drip down his face. Mortified was the least of his worries, however, because as soon as the car began to move, his stomach began to churn.

He spent the ride vomiting the evidence into his shoe, a sickly sweat sticking to his forehead while he thought about the videos he was shown in class as a kid. He was now the prime example of "don't do this" and he could almost feel his conscience fighting his watered down thoughts to tell him what an idiot he was. Earl could lose his scholarship for this; he could forfeit the one of the only things that could get him out of this town and away from his family.

I am so stupid.

* * *

Hello everyone!

I wanted to add a little author's note at the end of this chapter, just to thank you all for reading. Today, Francine & Earl hit 2k reads and is #704 in short story (but probably not for long). I want to tell you that I get so excited when I see notifications for comments, or when I see that the story has been added to someone's reading list, or if someone has voted. That's why I try to dedicate a chapter to you all, because this story has progressed because of you all.

So, thank you again, and the next update should be up soon (I'm going to try for tomorrow), and the story has approximately four more chapters left!