Boys, Beers and Bad Behavior

Chapter Three

“You have no power over me,” but even as the words tumble from my mouth, I know it’s a lie.

“You sure about that?”

I didn’t think things could get much worse, but apparently, they do.

I make a move to stand up. “I’ll just be in the corner having an existential crisis—”

“You sit down right now. I swear to God Nevaeh, if you move a muscle, I will cart you off the police station myself.” Mom’s hand clamps down on my shoulder and with some force, she pushes me back into my chair.

I shoot daggers in her direction. “You don’t have to be so dramatic, do you?”

Mom’s head snaps to me and her face is a picture.

“I’m dramatic?” she screeches. “I wouldn’t call stumbling into a family wedding so drunk you can’t see straight inconspicuous!”

“Well at least I arrived before the speeches,” I bite out, but I know it’s the wrong thing to say because my dad, who up until this point had been leaning against the door spins on his heels and storms over to me.

“That’s it,” he bellows. “I mean it, Nevaeh, you can’t keep doing this. You need to be taught a lesson and tough love from us clearly isn’t working anymore.”

I snort. What tough love? I don’t even get normal love.

“Well don’t overexert yourself there, dad,” I condescend. “You don’t want to put your back out before your trip tomorrow.”

His eyes flash and mom looks between the two of us with a heated expression. We all know what I am getting at, but of course, it’s never addressed. Like everything in the Thomas household, it’s brushed under the rug if it doesn’t fit the image, they are so desperate to portray.

I watch my father fish his phone out of his pants pocket. We are all still in our wedding gear, waiting in some dingy backroom as the fire department deals with the fire. It’s a little over the top if I’m being honest. The fire was contained and the only thing damaged was the table linen and the table underneath. It’s not like the entire building went up in flames. But the fire brigade arrived in a matter of minutes, bursting through the doors and evacuating us all out like it was some scene from Chicago Fire. The rest of the guests are nowhere to be seen and I can only imagine how hysterical my cousin must be right now. I guess it won’t be too long until she’s onto wedding number four and this incident will just be a memory from the past.

Dad steps out of the room and mom looks over to me with a look I can’t quite decipher. She’s leaning on the desk, her hair has fallen out of the updo she had put it in and frames her pale, oval face. I’m planted on a chair in front of her with my hands in my lap, but I can’t keep them still. I tried sitting on them, but that only made me get pins and needles, so they sit and twitch in my lap as my legs shake up and down, as if this is a nervous habit I have. But that’s the thing, it’s not like I’m nervous or anything. The threat of sending me away to some reform school or a remote boarding school in England has been fired in my direction for the last year and we all know that they are just empty words. The situation is always the same. They will make me sweat it out and then I’d make a half-assed apology, and this would be over by morning.

But then dad comes marching back into the room and both mom and I watch as he starts to run his hand through his unkempt dark hair.  It’s funny how much I take after him appearance-wise. We’re both dark – dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin whereas mom’s the complete opposite. I used to like knowing dad’s Italian roots had been passed down to us girls. We might have been twins but I had my dad’s temper. We were too similar for my liking.  

“You’re going to Alaska on Monday,” he proclaims to the both of us, although he is glancing at my mother instead of me as if he’s trying to judge her reaction.

The words fill the empty space and both Mom and I stand up at the same time. Where mom’s voice remains level, mine turns up a few notches.

“Steve,”

“What, I’m not going anywhere!”

My mother attempts to walk over to him but he brushes her off. “Can’t you see we can’t help her here, Sarah? She’s messing up her life and she’s got a serious alcohol issue. She needs help. We can’t lose another daughter.”

He might as well have slapped me. I ball my hands into fists, and I am about to approach mom who seems to be the more reasonable one in this situation, but her face tells me that she thinks the same. Neither of them is on my side with this one and I know the mention of my dead sister is what had changed her mind. I could almost kill dad for bringing her up. He has no right.

“You can’t make me go,” I spit out, my chest is heaving. “I’m not going, and you can’t force me.”  

Mom turns her head. Her eyes are wide, but the expression on her face is serious as if she’s trying to tell me with a single look that there is no room for an argument here. But f**k that, of course, there is.

“Actually, we can. You’re still a minor and we are your parents.”

“But Alaska?” I cry. “That’s miles away! What about my friends? What about my school here?”

“You’ve brought this on yourself,” Dad says sternly. “We have given you so many opportunities to sort yourself out but all you care about is going out with that trailer trash girl you call your friend and drinking yourself to death. You should be happy you’re going to a delinquent camp and not prison!”

“I tell you what’s a f*****g prison!” I scream, my throat is hoarse. “Living with the two of you!”

“Well, I guess that won’t be a problem because you’ll be finishing your senior year in Alaska.”

“You can’t be serious,” I look between them both. “If you send me away, I will never speak to the two of you ever again. I’ll be eighteen in four months and then I’ll be out of your lives for good.”

“Now who’s being dramatic?” Mom folds her arms.

“You can’t make me go,” and with that, I pull open the door and run out into the night.

                                                                                    *

Perhaps if I hadn’t had drunk so much when I was with Tess, I would have my bearings a little bit more. But it’s pitch black out tonight and I haven’t got a clue where I am or where I am going. I hug my arms to my chest as I walk, my heels digging into the soft ground. I know I’m walking over grass, but I haven’t seen any sign of a road and I have left my cell phone in my purse which is still with my parents. I look around, I must be on the edge of the property where the wedding reception was located. There is a full moon out, but even that doesn’t bring enough light to help me see where I am going. I squint into the night but find myself tripping over a root of a tree and then I am falling to the ground.

I let myself fall without supporting myself at all and I am distinctly aware of the shooting pain of my head connecting to the cold, hard ground. I roll over and lay there, staring up at the sky through the canopy of trees.

For a second, I forget how to feel. Everything feels numb, as if I’ve turned the off switch to my brain and even the back of my head stops throbbing for a moment. I lie there, staring at the sky without so much as a blink. I know that I’ve probably banged my head really hard which is why I can’t feel anything, but for a moment I just let the wave of emptiness calm me and it’s the most peaceful five minutes of my entire life.

Time must have passed because the next thing I know, arms are lifting me up and I am aware of being carried. The sound of leaves crunching underneath boots alerts me further and I flutter my eyes open, but my eyesight is fuzzy and unfocused, but I can tell by the smell of aftershave that it’s a man holding me.

“Don’t try to move, we need to get you to a hospital. You must have fallen asleep out here and we think you might have bumped your head.”

We?

I croak out something intelligible and the man looks back down at me.

“Your parents have been worried sick about you. I am a police officer, you’re safe now.”

It’s the last thing I remember before the world goes black.

Safe.

As if I know what that feels like.