Chapter Five - Hot Commodity (Bang) Damaged Goods
“Blakely,” I whispered in my best friend’s ear, “Bay,”
She groaned and rolled over, hugging a pillow to her chest.
“Get up, sleepy head.”
“My head hurts,” she moaned, her voice hoarse.
“I don’t doubt that, party queen,” I wrapped a piece of her golden hair around my finger, “but it’s time to get up.”
She grumbled some more and rubbed her eyes against the Sunday morning sun. “What time is it?”
I reached for my watch on the nightstand. “Eight-thirty,”
“In the morning?!” She sputtered.
I smiled and nodded.
“Jesus Rory! I love you, but you can be cruel sometimes.”
“Have a shower,” I said and walked over to the door. “I’ll make you some coffee.”
She covered her head with a pillow and screamed, kicking her comforter to the floor and flinging her perfectly tanned legs all over the place.
“Are you done?” I asked when she’d stopped, and she nodded submissively. “Then please get in the shower.”
When I got back from making the undoubtedly awful coffee, Blakely was sprawled out, wet, half-naked and face down on the bed. She was whining relentlessly into the mattress about her pounding head, so I handed her the coffee.
“Think you might put some clothes on?”
She sat up slowly, took a sip, and then pointed at her boobs. “You mean, hide these from the world?”
I laughed and whacked her leg. “Come on, we’re going shopping.”
“Really?” She grinned hopefully.
“Grocery shopping.” I corrected, before she could get too excited.
“Oh, bummer,” she rolled her eyes. “Sure thing, Mom,”
“Good girl,”
“Yeah, whatever,” she smiled as she fumbled over to her cupboard to find some clean clothes. It took a while. I avoided imagining the last time laundry had been done in this dump. That’s what happens when your mom is too whacked out of her mind to give a shit.
“So,” I breathed deeply, “Stuart McKinley, then.”
“Is that a question or a statement?” she asked, closely examining her reflection in the cracked mirror.
“Maybe both,”
“God, don’t look at me all judgmental like that,” she said as she pulled a Guns n’ Roses T-shirt over her head. “Theodore I-melt-hearts-I’m-so-perfect Murray, then?”
I grunted. “You can’t have been that drunk if you remember Stuart and that asshole.”
“Trust me honey,” she said as he pulled up her jeans, and checked out her butt in the mirror, “no amount of alcohol could make me forget that boy’s beautiful face.”
“He is not that good looking.”
Her jaw dropped dramatically. “Are you insane? You can hate his guts all you want, but it’s those kinds of outrageous lies that will reserve you a special place in hell. The guy is like the poster child for sex appeal. He’s the reason half the girls in our school don’t ditch after home room. He’s funny, and nice, and charming, and gorgeous, and straight!”
“Not to mention arrogant, and childish, and uncommitted to anything,” I added.
“Yeah, true,” she nodded in agreement, pulling on her left sneaker, “except you, of course.”
“Not this again,” I whined and threw my hands up in the air.
“Rory, he looks at you like you’re his reason for living!”
“Of course he does!” I yelled sarcastically. “After saying about three words to each other in the past four years, I must be his reason for living.”
“You said more than a hundred words to each other last night, never mind the last four years.”
“Hostile bickering hardly counts, Bay,” I argued as I began to make her bed. All the linen was white and stained. Most likely stolen from a hospital or something.
“He grabs every chance he can get his Rory-hungry hands on to speak about you. Seriously, he does it all the time. We’ll be talking about something completely unrelated and he’ll find any way to twist it into a conversation about you.”
I smoothed out the comforter and grabbed my keys off the dresser. “You are the biggest drama queen ever. Theo Murray doesn’t give a shit about me, and I can’t say I feel much different. Now, leave that poor mirror alone and come.”
She hardly even noticed as we passed her still unconscious mom. “God, what happened? You guys used to adore each other. You were going to get married and pump out perfect little brunette babies, for Christ’s sake! The dude is crazy about you and you complain?”
“I think we should stop talking about him. It’s way too early in the morning for this.”
“It’s way too early in the morning, period,” Blakely muttered.
I turned the keys and the engine died. Staring at the small, generic grocery store, I felt suddenly uninspired to go inside.
Blakely was messing with her hair in the rearview mirror, tossing it from side to side and teasing it with her fingers.
“Good God, I look awful,” she complained. “Can’t I please stay here? I have a killer headache.”
I turned my head to her and sighed. Even after a night of partying, and with no makeup on, she was stunning. She knew she was, too. Her golden waves shone in the morning light and her hazel eyes glittered with life. The only place her hangover was apparent was her temper.
“Come on, Bay. It’ll be good for you. What if your true love is waiting for you behind those doors?”
Her face immediately lit up, like it always did when love was mentioned. “You think he might be?”
“You’ll never know unless you go inside.”
“God, why do you always use love against me? It’s like my kryptonite,” she pulled up the latch and opened the passenger door. “Why isn’t your mom doing this though?”
“Why would my mother go grocery shopping for you?”
“For me?” she questioned as the door slammed shut. “Oh, Rory, you don’t have to do this. I can buy my own food.”
I grabbed her hand and began pulling her across the parking lot. “And what money will you be using to do this shopping?”
“Okay, you got me on that one. But-”
“No buts,” I smiled at her. “Just accept it.”
“Thanks, Ray,” she squeezed my hand. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Probably die of scurvy,” I said as the automatic doors opened and a blast of cold air hit us in the face.
“That’s not funny,” she scolded, frowning, and we stepped inside.
I pulled a piece of paper and two hundred bucks out of my back pocket. “Okay, here’s the list and some money.”
She pressed her lips together and sighed. “You made a list?”
“Yeah, so,” I tore the paper and handed her half, as well as one of the hundreds, “you get those, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
She scanned her eyes over it for a second. “Rory, there’s like a thousand things on here.”
“Better get to it then,” I smiled.
When I thought about it now, I questioned why it was this grocery store I chose to visit. Almost like how I questioned why it was the same grocery store those men chose to rob that day. It wasn’t special or significant in any way. In fact, it was about as average as they come, and in a perfectly normal neighborhood. The only difference was that it was now the place my best friend died.
Sometimes I still wondered if I hadn’t chosen this place she’d be alive. Maybe so, but maybe it was that it was just meant to be. Either way, it would have been my fault. I shouldn’t have taken here anywhere in her condition. She snapped without a second’s notice when she was hung-over, and I knew that better than anyone.
True love was not what greeted my best friend that day. The only thing waiting behind those doors was a bullet with Blakely’s name on it.
I guess I'll do some nitpicking for you to start, huh?