Reason To Fight

Chapter 8

Yes.” A slurred but familiar voice came from behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know this voice belonged the one person that’s caused me so much hurting all in one day.

I didn’t look back; my eyes were fixed on the piano keys. After Lauren’s drunken fake confession earlier that night, we went home after about 2 hours, so Lauren must have sobered up a bit. 

Earlier that night

“You’re drunk!” I hissed, pushing Lauren away.

Her hands instantly flew off of my body, and a respectful gap of space had been created between us. She gulped; her eyes had a glint of hurt.  The kind of hurt that portrayed feeling ashamed, but also revealed helplessness. “C-Camz, I-I-I’m…” Her voice slurred, but not much left her mouth. It stayed like that for a while, her face, I mean. I tried getting something out of it, like maybe the reasoning behind it. Deep, deep down, it gave me hope there was truth to her previous words, but that was just me being my naïve self. And my naïveté was truly magnified and proven, once something struck in her face. Like an emotion passed within her, and suddenly she felt completely different. What emotion replaced her previous hurt, you may ask? I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t tell. “You’re always so complicated.” She finally said.

“I don’t see what’s so complicating.” I responded. I knew she was drunk, and I shouldn’t let a word she said get to me, but the amount of rage she had given me was beyond belief.

“Whateeeevvvsssss,” She whined, “I’ll just go do a guy or something; I don’t know why I came to you.”

I tried with as much will power I could muster up not to cry, not to tear up. A part of me wanted to stop her, and tell her not to do it. The thought of a guy taking advantage of Lauren’s intoxicated state disgusted me, but I was too angry to let her know that. Instead, I just hoped from a distance, cared from a distance. I hoped for the love of god that although drunk, she wouldn’t let a guy do that. “I don’t know why you came to me, either.” I said, as she stuck her tongue out and didn’t give two shits. “After all, we’re just friends.” I mumbled under my breath, but I was sure she couldn’t hear me; she was too busy wrapping a strand of her hair around the tip of her nose while walking out.

The minute she was out of sight, I let the first tear stroll down my face. God, why do we want whom we can’t have?

Present

But yes? Yes what? Yes there’s a chance? Yes there’s a reason to fight? Yes, as a form as exclamation? The curiosity and hope gave in and I finally turned my body around.

Lauren had her fingers shoved down her pockets, and her body leaned against the doorframe. She had a slight half smile to her face, as she ran one of her hands through her hair. Her body lifted off the doorframe, and for a moment, her eyes gazed through mine, before taking a step closer.

“Yes…” She slurred, finally coming close enough to sit beside me on the piano bench, “Yes there’s a chance I might change my mind… about that dress you’re wearing.” She snorted, and burst out laughing.

My nostrils flared, “You’re still drunk?”

“DRUNK?” She widened her eyes in offense, and took a while to muster up a response, “5 to the… power of x is the square root of a house is drunk. I ain’t drunk.”

“You’re even more drunk than before, how is that possible?”

She leaned her head closer to mine, “Imma tell you a secret,” she whispered hotly against my mouth, “I have a bottle of vodka no one knows about.”