Nothing Gold Can Stay

Prologue

I closed the door slowly trying not to make any noise. I had just arrived from one of those parties I assisted every, or almost, every friday. My town, being as little and away from the city as it is, parties were always made in some random teenager's house whose parents were on a trip or simply weren't home on friday night. Don't think low of me. I'm not one of those girls who love to get drunk and not remember a single thing they did the night before when they wake up next morning. I simply like to have a good time sometimes, and having nothing fun to do in this town, the only thing that I enjoy are these stupid parties where; a) some teenager who's too drunk to think clearly cheats on their partner with someone else, so the drama they make is 100% secure and, b) when the party gets too boring, Rachel persuades me to get her out of there and go get something to eat because she claims, and I quote, that the food at those parties is not trustworthy because they might have injected some kind of drugs to it so that guys can slide their hand on your panties easier.

—Alycia? Is that you? —Shit. My efforts in trying not to make any noise and avoiding to wake my mother up were in vain. Again. —Again getting home this late? What is it about friday's that turn teenagers so crazy? And don't tell me you were meeting someone for a night study because I can smell the alcohol in you from a mile away.

—What if I told you that it is easier to study with alcohol? —By just finishing that sentence, I get the hardest look my mom has ever gave me since I was 5 and I invented any excuse so I could skip classes. —Okay, okay. There was this party and Rachel and I thought it'd be great to go. I didn't have too much alcohol, if I had, we wouldn't be having this conversation, believe me.

—Believe you? You told me you were going to Rachel's to study and you finished up in a party and you come home stinking of alcohol! —I get ready to tell her another good reason of why we wouldn't be having this conversation if I was drunk and how I'm already 17 so she should be able to trust me when it comes to going out, but before I can even open my mouth to speak, she stops me.—I don't want to keep having this conversation. Go to your room. You're done with your late night runaways until I forget all of this.

I decide not to add anything else because it wouldn't make any sense and the only thing it'd do is make her angry and make the quarantine last longer.

I go to my room, I come in, and put on my pajamas before heading to bed. I was exhausted. First, I took off my shirt along with my bra. I must admit that my favorite part of the day is getting home and freeing my little ones from that thing that won't let them, or me, breathe. I put on my pajama's shirt and right away, I take off my pants. I hate wearing these tight things but I prefer them before any dress. As I take them off and turn them around, my hand flies to the back pocket of these and discovers a bottle label, folded several times. —Do people really not know the difference between a rubbish bin and my pants? I hope this is not an indirect to throw them away because that's not going to happen. —I say out loud. I unfold the damn label and when I do, I find a message written on the inside.

Beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and devil are fighting there, and the battlefield is the heart of man.

                                         J. F.