Royals

Chapter 15

After purchasing our snacks, Jake finally took in my appearance, scanning me from head to toe. I felt suddenly subconscious and wanted to shield myself from his disapproving stare.

"You look like you just got out of bed," Jake joked.

I smiled tensely. "I just wanted to be comfortable for the movie."

"But it's a date?"

I sighed. I knew Joey was wrong; I should have dressed up.

No.

I shouldn't have to dress up for him. It shouldn't matter what I'm wearing.

I cleared my throat. "So what?"

He averted his eyes to the theater numbers, ignoring my remark. "We're in this theater."

I followed him into the room with a victorious smirk on my lips.

After the awful film finally ended, we headed towards the back doors.

When I felt the cool nighttime breeze nip at my skin, Jake grabbed me by the shoulder and turned me to face him.

"Now, considering Lillia's a blabber mouth, I'm sure you know why we're here." I inhaled a deep breath; this is the moment I've been waiting for since I was a little kid. "Emily, will you be my girlfriend?"

Silence.

Why couldn't I answer him?

My brain was screaming "yes" in my ears, but my heart spoke instead, "Um, I don't know if I want to date anyone right now."

"If this is about the clothes or the avoiding Joey thing, then I'm sorry," he insisted.

I apologized as my response. It's all I could muster up. How was I supposed to tell him that I kissed his best friend and might have a hopeless crush on him?

The fifteen minute car ride home was silent. And, instead of the comfortable silence I shared with Joey earlier, it was downright awkward.

When he pulled into my driveway, I uneasily thanked him for taking me out and marched up my porch steps.

I walked into the back of the food pantry and swung open the liquor cabinet. I sat on the floor, brought a bottle of red wine to my lips, and absorbed the thick sensation it shot down my throat.

Gulp after gulp, the numbness started to kick in.

I heard footsteps, and within seconds, my mother stood before me with a compassionate look on her face. "At least grab a glass, Em."

She gripped my forearms and hauled me off the tile. I stumbled over to the kitchen counter, grabbing a wine glass from a nearby shelf. I unsteadily filled my glass to brim, giggling as tiny scarlet streaks dripped down the side.

As soon as I set the bottle down, my mother hastily snatched it away. When I finished my glass, I held it out for her to refill.

"No, you've had enough," she firmly stated.

"Give it to me," I barked. But instead of obeying me, she placed the bottle on top of the fridge.

I was apoplectic. Who was she to cut of my supply? I furiously threw my wine glass at the fridge, shattering glass throughout the kitchen.

In my rage of fury, I hadn't noticed that a large piece of glass had bounced off the fridge, slicing my mom's nose.

As if it was an off switch, my mood changed from caustic to worry and regret.