(Lesbian) Heartbreak Hotel and Other Shitty Love Songs (LGBT) (GirlxGirl)

Track Nine: Sk8r Boi -Avril Lavigne

"I miss Bethy," Carson remarks to me as I drive him home from school. It was the first time since my so-called accident that I was trusted to pick him up, and Wren had certainly been grateful to unload his newfound duty back onto me. Apparently, wedding planning was turning out to be a full-time job for him. So much so, that a five minute drive down the street was far too daunting of a task for him.

I couldn't even tell you how much time had passed since I last spoke to her. Bethany, that is. That's what it's like when your entire universe is centered around one person, even for a short amount of time. Everything else just seems to blur together without them, like wildfire skies or a drunken whiskey haze. Obsession is deadly-- that's why they make so many Lifetime movies about it.

"You hardly even knew her," I remark snarkily, knowing that my comment was completely unnecessary. Fifth graders don't tend to know anyone beyond what their favorite color is.

"Well I liked her," He spits back, huffily crossing his arms against his chest, and I can't help but roll my eyes.

"Well, turns out that I was wrong about her. She sucks," I mutter, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. White knuckles are a control-freaks favorite accessory.

Carson leans over the seat, eyes wide, hair a mess.

"I'm telling mom you said that," He sing-songs. Shit. I'd forgotten that even the tiniest little insult is monumentous at the elementary school. Stop judging me, it's hard to scale back from seven f-bombs per sentence to a measly acknowledgement of suckage.

"Too bad for you, 'cause mom will agree with me," I stick my tongue out at him as I back into our driveway. He lets out a ripple of giggles, and sticks his tongue out right back at me-- with no shortage of spit bubbles along with it.

"Ew," I remark, unbuckling my seatbelt, and beginning the grand unloading into the house,

"Shelby?" Carson starts, hopping out of the backseat, his enormous, oversized backpack all but resembling a parachute on his tiny body. I raise my eyebrow at him, shutting the car door and leading him towards the front of the house.

"I'm glad that it's you picking me up again," He grins, wobbling up the front steps. A warmth envelops my chest, but before I can respond he speaks again. "Mom says you had a mental breakdown. Please don't have one again, because Wren doesn't think I should be marrying Lainey and I hate him," He stumbles on into the house, leaving me standing on the porch, dumbfounded.

Jeez. A girl can't even escape the rumor mill in her own god damn house. I drop down to my knees, and eventually decide to settle in for a long sit on the cedar steps, something that any mental health professional would commend me for taking the time to do. A moment to myself, or a moment of reflection, if you will. Actually, it is possible that I've overdone it on the moments of reflection recently. I mean, come on, how many inner monologues about Bethany, redemption, and betrayal can I really go through before I really do have a mental breakdown? Stay tuned to find out.

I reach into the front pocket of my backpack and produce the list, which, to my credit, wasn't looking too much more dishevelled than it already had, even after being shoved in amongst my makeup and notoriously leaky pens. I try to focus on Cole's name, but my eyes keep flitting to the end of the list. Bethany. Bethany. Bethany. Shut the fuck up. Bethany. I rashly fold the paper over so that her name isn't visible.

Boys only.

The only club that girls like me can't be a part of, but I can certainly fuck my way into. The kind of club I never really wanted to be a part of anyways.

I pull my knees up to my chest as the fall afternoon turns a little nippy, still staring at this goddamn list. There's a part of me that still burns with an anger and atrocity. That still wants to hurt these people, and to see them get screwed over and over and over again. Some, with reason, others without. But there's also a part of me that doesn't really want to feel so hateful anymore. Hatred, after all, is exhausting. More so than anything else I've ever partaken in. After all, my hobby can't be breaking hearts forever. Adults don't take such things quite as seriously.