⚣Loving the Golden Boy

5 - Maren

Practice is the definition of pain and suffering.

I read the bible from third to sixth grade when I was under my grandma's care, so I know a little about the fiery pits of damnation. Thus, I can state confidently that my calves burn as fiercely as the flames of hell.

I'm not even that religious, but by the end of the two hours of practice, I'm praying to god Ronan's had his fill of tormenting me.

I ditch the hot showers and spend a half hour stretching every last muscle in my legs on the turf field.

Rupert stops by to check on how I'm doing – I tell him to worry more about his leg. He doesn't seem to take that well; his entire face glows red like a pile of burning embers.

Ronan, on the other hand, doesn't even say goodbye – never mind an apology. I'm pulsing with anger just remembering the way he manhandled me the entire time and shouted insults at me.

But whatever, I'll just get drunk off my ass in his name. It'll be even better if he hears about it, too.

Maybe that'll get under his skin.

I return home before the party in order to change into some casual clothes – I don't want to be showing up in a DairyKing apron. Barrie isn't home yet, but I know mom will start asking question if I'm spotted.

She doesn't like it when I go to parties, probably fearing that I'll come home the same way Barrie does; drunk and angry.

I promise her that'll never be the case, but she doesn't believe me. Even after paying last month's rent her trust in me is still lacking.

I rummage through my closet, pulling a cooler out from behind a stack of board games. I always keep some alcohol stashed away – I only drink it when I start thinking too much.

After setting it down on my bedside table, I pull out my outfit of the night; a Nirvana black t-shirt and a pair of jeans, along with a red bandana that I tie around my neck because fuck it – I'm basic.

I shoot Ryan a text telling him I'm on my way before walking down the stairs casual-as-day, avoiding my mom's stare.

"Austin." She says. I can smell the stroganoff cooking on the stove, but I fight the temptation and keep walking like I didn't hear her.

"Austin!"

I ignore her again, hand wrapping around the doorknob.

"Austin Richard Harlow!" She shouts, and my skin crawls with each of those deadly six syllables. I stop and turn to face her, pouting like a preschooler being denied a candy bar.

"Is that alcohol in your hands?" Mom hisses, pointing her spatula at me.

I pull the twisted tea out from behind my back and eye it in feigned surprise.
"Oh, man!" I gasp, "I have no idea how this got here – I thought it was an iced tea..."

"Don't even try me, Austin." She warns, I stalk towards her with a sigh. "Should I be worried?"

"No." I say immediately, "it's just a little get together I'm going to with Ryan."

I know it's going to be everything but little, but mom doesn't need to know that.

"Just stay safe, okay?" She sighs, giving me one last worried look-over before returning her attention to the stovetop.

I leave before she can change her mind.

"I have a bad feeling about this." Ryan says when he tugs open the passenger door to my car. He gets in before the rain can soak through his clothes, plucking the fifty dollar bill from between my fingers.