Young Writers Society

My vision was slightly blurred when I woke up. After the unbelievable struggle of fighting my way out of the sheets, I stumbled to the bathroom. I fell to my knees at the foot of the toilet – most likely bruising each knee on the rough, tiled floor – lifted the seat, and violently heaved some fluid into the bowl. The vomit was surprisingly flavorless, yet still smelled horrible. After a few wet coughs into the bowl, I weakly stood to my feet, wiping my mouth.

On my way out of the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My crusty, bloodshot eyes were almost hidden beneath my jungle of tangled hair. I realized I was slouching and straightened my back, causing a volley of cracks and pops to emit from my spine. I smacked my chapped lips and left the room.

The headache didn’t hit me until I plopped back onto my bed. Head throbbing, I let myself sink into the mattress. I made an attempt to close my eyes – maybe sleep is what I needed for my aching brain to be forgotten – but that made me so dizzy, I almost threw-up again. I lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling. I had no idea why I felt like such a sack of shit, but I didn’t think about it too much. I didn’t want to feel even worse than I already did.

Then the phone rang.

I contemplated on whether I should get up or not, and decided to let the call go to voice mail. The phone rang again almost immediately. My head throbbed in unison with each ring. I didn’t answer it again. When the phone rang for the third time, I finally picked up.

“Hello?” I tasted my awful breath on the “h”.

There was a short silence before I got a response, as if the caller had to work up the courage to say what they were about to say. I heard a deep inhalation, then, “Hey, Loraine.”

I recognized the voice immediately. “Jerome!”

Jerome was some dude I’ve known since high school. He’s the kind of guy that’s just a big, lovable moron. Every time we meet, he calls me a hippy and tells me to get my hair cut, and I punch him in the shoulder. It’s kind of our thing.

Something was off with his tone in this call, though. It was sprinkled with sincerity, and was drained from his usual playfulness. “Glad we’re doing this together. I know it’s going to be hard, but should be easier with you there with me. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

“Huh?” I rubbed my temples with my middle and index fingers. “Jerome. The fuck are you talking about?”

He had already hung up.

I held the phone to my ear for a couple short, awkwardly quiet moments, waiting for him to call back and rephrase whatever the hell he had just said. Did he expect me to know why he was coming to pick me up? Hesitantly, I took the phone from my ear and let it drop from my hands. It bounced off the mattress and onto the floor.

I muttered swears under my breath and stood up. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit me like a brick wall, and sent me tumbling into my dresser. Once I regained my balance, I walked back into the bathroom. Jerome’s coming no matter what, so I might as well make myself look decent while I have the time.

I took a long, cold shower, fixed my curly, blonde mane, and got dressed into the first clothes I took from closet, a red t-shirt and purple pants. I was brushing my teeth when I heard Jerome’s car pull into the driveway. I spat into the sink and ran – or, walked as fast as I could without becoming overcome with an intense dizziness – to the front door.

When I opened the door, I almost felt better instantly. It was a beautiful morning – sunlight drenched the earth and warmed my face; the wonderful aroma of freshly planted flowers filled my lungs; birds resting in a marble bird bath noticed me approaching and flew away, chirping a magnificent song.

My stomach churned as I hopped down from my porch. Emphasis on almost felt better.

I reached Jerome’s dark blue Honda Accord and jiggled the door handle until he unlocked it. The door swung open, revealing Jerome lazily leaning on his left hand, right hand on the wheel. He was staring at the dashboard. He looked like he was in deep thought. He hadn’t shaved today, and after a quick sniff, I could tell he hadn’t showered today, either. On top of that, he was dressed in pajamas.

“Okay, what the hell, Jerome,” I jumped into the passenger seat, and Jerome looked up. “You should’ve told me I didn’t have to get all dressed-up.”

“Mm,” He shrugged and put the car into drive. His voice was in the exact same tone as it was in the call. Why was he acting so different? “Thought it was implied.”

Jerome can be a douche sometimes. All he told me was that he was coming in an hour. He pushed the pedal and we were off. The car was painfully silent for a while, until I finally asked what had been on my mind all day:

“So, um,” I hesitated. “Where are you taking me, anyway?” The road we were on looked really unfamiliar.

He shot me a condescending look, as if I now had a giant nametag on my chest that read “stupid fucking idiot”. “Don’t you remember? I’m taking you the cliff.”

The cliff? Wait. Is he talking about that cliff where all the high schoolers with raging hormones coursing through their veins park their cars and tongue-wrestle until they have so many hickeys their necks are red? Shit, I don’t like Jerome like that. And even if I did, aren’t we too old for this shit? If I wanted to bang someone, I’d do it in a bed. “The cliff? Why are we going there?”

“Where else would we do this?” He said, looking me in the eyes.

I felt my heart take a plunge into my stomach. God, I’m gonna puke again. I let out a long sigh. “Jerome. I don’t want… I…” Another sigh. “I can’t do this.”

He slammed on the brakes, making the car lurch forward. My stomach bubbled and I tasted vomit in the back of my throat. Thank God there were no cars behind us, or this would have ended up being a ten car pile-up.

“What?” He pronounced the word in such a chilling way, goosebumps began to grow on my arms and legs. “You promised, Loraine.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Promised? When?”

“Last night! Tony’s New Year’s Eve party!”

Oh man. That explains why I feel so terrible. This could go in my autobiography as the worst hangover I’ve ever had. “Jerome, I was drunk as hell at that party, and I’m pretty sure you were too. Whatever I promised to do… it was the alcohol talking.”

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head toward mine. “No. I know you, Loraine, and what you said was what you meant. I know we feel the same way about...” he looked away from me for a split second, thinking, then returned his vision to me and continued. “This. I know we feel the same way about everything.”

“NO! We don’t! Who are you to tell me exactly how I feel toward you? You’re such a bastard. No means no.” I tried to pull the door handle. It didn’t budge. It was locked.

“Loraine… this isn’t about me. Well, not entirely. It’s about what you did to me at the party.” Aw, sick. I don’t even want to know what I did to him at the party. “What do you think we’re going to the cliff for?”

“What the fuck do you mean what do I think we’re going to the cliff for? If I promised I’d bang you up on the cliff, I’m breaking the promise.”

Jerome looked at me and gave me his classic smirk. He started to chuckle, then broke into a sort of maniacal laughter. “Wow,” he choked out in between laughs. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

I fiddled with the door lock, trying to unlock it. Whenever I pulled it up, Jerome would just re-lock it. “No. I really don’t, Jerome. Just… please. You’re scaring me.”

He let out some more laughter. “Loraine, come on. I’m not going to fuck you on the cliff.”

I loosened up a bit, and readjusted myself into a more comfortable position on the seat, “Oh,” I began to laugh, too. “Thank God. I feel kinda stupid, now.”

“Yeah, no, how old do you think I am, 16? We’re not going to the cliff to have sex. We’re going to drive off it.” He pressed on the pedal.

Wait, what did he just say? “Ha ha, what?”

He was looking at the road again, and his smile from five seconds ago had faded.

“Jerome, what did you say we were doing?”

He swallowed and kept staring at the road. He looked like he was holding back tears. “At Tony’s party, while everyone was busy grinding on each other, I was in the bathroom. It was the only place in the house that wasn’t ear-wrenchingly loud.”

“Jerome,” I was trying to open the door again. We took a turn from the asphalt road to a gravel one. The car seemed like it was going faster every second. “Please, just let me out.”

“You came in. Puked something fierce. On your way out, you noticed me. You invited me to join you and the others downstairs, and when I quietly declined, you noticed that my eyes were bloodshot with tears.” His voice cracked.

I saw a wooden sign. It had the words “Chestnut Peake” painted in black, and the words “Danger! Steep Drop” painted in red. I tried getting the window open, but it was locked as well. “Jerome, stop. Please. I’m scared.”

“Any other girl would ignore that and just get back to making babies on the dance floor. But you… you cared. You stayed, and asked me what was wrong.”

I was just pushing on the door now. “I want out, Jerome. I want out.”

“So I told you what happened. I thought I finally had hit it off with this girl that I loved. She was supposed to be the one. She just had to be the one. I’ve been in and out of so many relationships. I can never make it last. Her and I were dancing together, and, eventually, I whispered into her ear, ‘meet me in the upstairs bedroom’. It was happening. It was finally going to happen. I honestly thought I had found the girl. When we got upstairs, we started undressing each other. But…” As he paused, I noticed the tears streaming down his face. “When I took off my pants… she… she laughed at me. She laughed right in my face. She left the room, cracking up. Leaving me alone. I’ve been rejected so many times, Loraine. So many times. You…” Jerome swallowed, then began to shout. “You were the final straw, Loraine!”

Tears began fill my eyes. “W-what? You said I was the one who came into the bathroom to comfort you!”

“You were. You humiliated me, and then came to comfort me, like it never happened.”

I could see the edge of the cliff in the horizon. Jerome sped up. “Oh my God! Jerome, I’m so sorry! So fucking sorry! I was drunk!”

“I told you I that I was done, that I quit, and that I was going to kill myself. And I meant it. And you told me that you’d come with me, and you meant it.” The edge was probably 500 yards away.

I balled my hands into fists. “Jerome, you’re so goddamn stupid! I make a drunken mistake, and you're going to kill us both over it!?” 400 yards away.

“I felt betrayed, it’s just… I’ve always loved you, Loraine. And you don’t feel the same. 300 yards.

“Jerome, you're all I have! You know both my parents are dead. And you know my only sibling died just last year. I need you. I love you, and you're about to murder me because it's not in the romantic sense?” 100.

Jerome flung his foot onto the brakes, but because the road was made of gravel, he couldn’t make a complete stop. Rocks tumbled over the edge as we came nearer and nearer. We finally stopped with the two front wheels hanging in thin air, the two back wheels of the car slowly teetering upwards.

Jerome had stopped crying. His face of melancholy was replaced with a face of dread. “Oh my God. Oh my God, Loraine, I’m so stupid. I’m so sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry Jerome. I can’t believe I dehumanized you like that. I’ll never let another drop of alcohol touch these lips again.”

There was silence. Then he laughed. So did I.

The car’s tilting got more intense, and soon we were at an angle where we could see the sun beautifully reflected on the calm waters below. I felt the car begin to slide downward.

Jerome looked at me, and smirked. “Get a haircut, you hippy.”

I smiled and punched him in the shoulder.