Chapter 7: The Drinking (and Bad Judgment) Begins

I'm desperate for a drink.

"Fine," I say to Alex. "What do I have to do?"

"Just get out of the water," he replies. "Then I'll give it to you."

"Wait - are you afraid I'll drop it in the river? I wasn't the one who got butterfingers during the flag football championship - "

"I still maintain that the sun was in my eyes," he says. "But no, that isn't the reason. I'd just prefer to get you out of the water. Just in case."

"In case of what?" I cross my arms. "Are you afraid I'm going to hurt myself? It's hard to hurt yourself in a foot and a half of water."

"But not impossible."

I can tell he's not going to budge on this, so I quickly weigh my options. Which is more important - to feel the cool water rushing around my legs, or to feel the sweet burn of alcohol on my tongue? Today, the alcohol wins.

I wade back to the riverbank and step out of the water.

"I promise I'm okay," I say, reaching out for the flask. "I'm just...just feeling a little crazy, that's all." And like I want to crawl into a hole and live there for the next forty years.

His blue eyes seem to burn into me. "Are you sure you should be drinking? If you're feeling sick - "

"My nausea has nothing to do with any sort of physical ailment, I promise," I say. Just my cheating douche canoe of an ex-fiancé.

There's a very strange look in his eyes. "You aren't pregnant, are you?"

"Not you, too," I say, holding out my hand. "I swear. I know I've done some stupid things in my life, but I wouldn't ask you for alcohol if I had something growing in there."

For a moment, I think Alex might still refuse to hand me whatever devil's brew he has in his hand, but finally he hands it to me. I take the flask and unscrew the cap.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" he says.

"I'm sure." I raise an eyebrow. "You just want to hear me badmouth him, don't you?"

He frowns. "Why would I want that?"

I shrug, raising the flask to my lips. "You never liked him. I could tell." I take a swig from the flask, relishing the fire that hits my tongue. Like the icy water behind me, the jolt of sensation comforts me somehow. And Alex was right - this was much smoother than the crap he used to drink. Still not exactly to my taste - I'm more of a wine cooler kind of girl - but it'll do.

When I lower the flask, Alex's frown has deepened. "I didn't dislike Wes."

"Please, I'm not an idiot. I've known you for forever. I could tell, even over the phone."

"I've only met him a handful of times in person, and all of those times were before the two of you were even dating. That's not enough time to form an opinion."

"I could tell," I insist. "Just from the way you sounded whenever I talked about him."

He looks skeptical. "How exactly did I sound?"

I shrug and raise the flask again. "Like you didn't like him. It's hard to put into words exactly. I could tell."

When I lower the flask again, he's still frowning. Somehow, his new facial hair makes him look sterner than usual.

"Whether or not I liked him doesn't matter now," he says. "Honestly, I'm more curious about how you felt about him."

"Me? I'd have thought that would be obvious. I mean, I did just cause a scene at your mom's party."

He's studying me very closely. "I don't know what happened, but I'm assuming from the reaction of your mom and the rest of the neighborhood that this is a relatively new development. News always did seem to travel fast in this town." He cocks his head, still looking at me. "And yet whatever happened, you don't seem that upset about it."

Now it's my turn to frown. "You mean having a panic attack in your parents' bathroom and then throwing up on someone sounds like something I'd do on a normal Saturday? Just because?"

"That's not what I meant. I mean...well, I guess I'm just surprised you aren't crying."

He's got me there.

"Most guys like to complain that girls cry too much," I say.

"I'm not most guys. And I think there are plenty of times when crying is a perfectly legitimate option."

I shrug again. "I'm not much of a crier. You know that."

"I know that you bawl your eyes out any time a dog dies in a movie."

"That's different. Dogs are sweet and defenseless and not stupid assholes who can't keep it in their pants." The words are out of my mouth before I have the chance to stop them. Shit. Maybe this alcohol was a bad idea after all. I didn't mean to start word vomiting - I've had enough vomiting today.

Something that looks suspiciously like sympathy has filled Alex's eyes. "Mae..."

"Nope," I say, raising a hand. "I don't want to hear it. I'm fine. And you were kind enough to bring me some alcohol, so you're welcome to go back to your mom's party." I take another drink.

But he doesn't budge. "Even if Wes is an asshole, you're still allowed to cry."

"But I don't want to cry," I say. "I've felt like I was going to throw up all day, sure, but I don't feel like I need to cry." Is that bad? Or just weird? It's the absolute truth - I'm definitely not holding back tears. I don't even have that achy feeling you get in your throat or behind your eye sockets that means that the waterworks are on their way. I just feel...like I just ate an entire tub of month-old tuna salad from a gas station.

But that's not the weirdest part. The weirdest part is that deep down, beneath the gross feeling in my gut, I feel something almost like relief. Like all this time I was carrying some sort of weight without realizing it, and that I'm suddenly finding the weight is gone.

And I'm terrified of what that means.