All I Ever Wanted

All I Ever Wanted

8:34 PM

“We have to wait half an hour before taking another one!”

“Screw it—I declare it to be half an hour right now!”

It is the summer of 2015, and my parent’s living room is filled with whoops and hollers. Nobody refutes Jaxie’s rebellious break to the rule we all set a couple hours ago. We outta take it slow. We’ll take shots every 30 minutes and mixed drinks in between, with minimal vodka or rum—your choice.

I trail right behind my best friend Ashley’s heels, my cheeks flushed with the warmth spreading throughout my body, which isn’t only coming from the drink held loosely in my hand. It’s also coming from you holding my other hand, and not once do I let go. I catch myself glancing over my shoulder occasionally, as it to check for myself that you are still indeed there.

“Take it slow my ass,” Trevor mumbles across the kitchen as everyone piles around the granite island counter, where Jaxie messily pours everyone a generous shot. I reluctantly release your hand as I set my mixed drink down and pick up the warm glass of peach-flavored vodka. I look at all the faces around me, and I feel myself beaming. I love all these people. And I’m so happy that you’re here with us, to share memories that we’ll hopefully never forget.

It's been way too long since we’ve all gotten together again. It reminds me of high school. Being a sophomore in college, that time seems ages ago. Each time I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of how much I’ve physically changed since then. I’m over my semi-gothic phase: the heavy eyeliner, the dark clothing 24/7, the countless trips to Hot Topic. I’ve also lost a significant amount of weight my Freshmen year in college, so I’m no longer that girl who’s incredibly self-conscious of her body. I’ve still got curves, of course, and my thunder thighs, but as Meghan Trainor said, it’s all about that bass! And of course, whoever said high school is the best part of your life is debatable. So far, I like college immensely more than I did high school.

My eyes catch your dark brown ones as I swivel down the vodka. Around me, everyone whoops and hollers again, breaking off into warm-hearted laughter. Trevor makes his way back outside, turning the music back on with his phone. I hear the familiar thumping pop tune of Primadonna by Marina and the Diamonds through the thin walls of my parent’s house. Without them, this place seems so quiet. Or maybe it’s because we’re so loud. It doesn’t matter that we are; nobody can hear us since my parents living in the middle of nowhere. They’ve gone to their cabin in Colorado for vacation for a week, so I’ve got this entire house to myself. I fully intend on making full use of my time here.

You hold my hand again, and I immediately move closer, remembering how just over a year ago, you asked me to be your girlfriend in this very same room. The butterflies I feel fluttering in my stomach are nowhere near as intense as they were that day when you kissed my forehead, but that’s how I prefer it to be.

All I ever wanted was the world

I can't help but I need it all

The primadonna life, the rise and fall

9:25 PM

I have a new friend. It’s a bug, and I think it’s a he, although I’m not too sure. I’m also not sure what kind of bug he is, and although I’m not a huge fan of bugs, I’m not afraid or repulsed by them, either.

I’m crouching on the cold tile, vaguely hearing loud voices come from the backyard, where the pool is. But the bug stays there, right in the middle of the lines from the tile. Is he staring at me, too? Or is he too scared to move? I wonder what it’s like, to be that tiny in such a gigantic world. What do I look like to him?

“I’m not going to hurt you, little fella,” I murmur gently. “Would you like to go outside? Being inside isn’t all that great. Besides, the party’s moved out there!”

Fetching a piece of paper towel, I gently ease the bug onto the top and curl it like a small canoe. Then, I gingerly walk to the back porch and open the glass door. A naked Jaxie runs by me, and Ashley laughs from her place on the bench. We’re most likely both thinking the same thing.

How much you wanna bet Jaxie won’t actually do it?

Yet, she climbs into the hot tub stark naked, where Trevor and Sam wait inside. As I set down my new friend, I wonder where you are until I remember you went to get us pizza because when I’m buzzed, pizza is the best thing in the entire world, and except for Trevor, you’re the only one fit to drive anywhere because you refuse to drink.

“Hey,” Ashley’s voice sounds closer than I realize. When I straighten up, I see that she’s stripping out of her shirt. “You coming or what?”

“You know it,” I say with a crooked grin, already tugging on the hem of my purple shirt that I got once at a Renaissance Festival in Michigan with the words Damsel during the day, a wench at night! written in bold cursive over the front. As I manage to pull it off, I hear a low crunch where my feet are. Confused, I peer down to see the twisted remains of my friend.

“Sarah!” Sam’s voice carries from the hot tub. “C’mon. We’re playing truth or dare!”

10:55 PM

I feel hot despite the gusting winds of South Texas and me being waist-deep in pool water. I take a messy sip of vodka straight from the bottle before passing it to Sam, who takes several gulps.

You’re sitting next to me, but for once, I’m barely aware of your presence. The hot tub’s water is ironically cool and refreshing. My family hasn’t gotten it to work for the 10 years we’ve lived here. Maybe one day, it will. Or maybe not.

Only time can tell.

Someone winds up dropping the bottle, the pool water tainting the alcohol. But it’s the same color, so we continue passing it around. The world dips and spins, and I cannot stop smiling. Vaguely, in the background, I hear Trevor’s low music playing on his phone—the same song from earlier.

You say that I'm kinda difficult

But it's always someone else's fault

Got you wrapped around my finger, babe

You can count on me to misbehave

11: 25 PM

The world dips and spins, but not in a cool way. I can’t walk straight. My knees are banged and bruised from having the brilliant decision of jumping in and out of the pool. You’re holding my hand again, leading me down the hallway. We walk into the room I grew up in, and I instinctively glance over, expecting to find 20 pairs of eyes from One Direction posters peering back at me. But I only see a plain, white wall.

I remember how it was here, in this very room, where you said something so beautiful to me that it rendered me speechless. Or the time you gave me the handwritten note with countless ways to describe how you felt about me. We pass by my full-length mirror; I still recognize myself—my hazel eyes, flushed cheeks, and your tall stature. I’ve always loved your height. I felt like we matched like two puzzle pieces. That’s something that hasn’t changed.

You and I hold so many memories together. So many special moments. I want to make more, but not like those. Not as serious. I want us to be happy and carefree. As we lay on my twin-sized bed with your arms encased around me, I think to myself can you hold me?

The world dips and spins, but not in a cool way.

Side-to-side, up-and-down.

I can’t feel my lips, so I can’t feel you kissing me.

I’m suddenly so very tired.

And I'm sad to the core, core, core

Every day is a chore, chore, chore

When you feel of a whole more more

I wanna be adored

11: 45 PM

You’re not holding my hand. You’re holding my wrists above my head. Your hands are no longer warm but cold. Your touch is no longer gentle but demanding. Your smile is no longer friendly but malicious. I’m no longer giddy but scared.

I don’t know what’s happening.

I’m quickly reminded of the time you grabbed my forearm and drug me out of the theatre during One Act Play practice and into the empty dressing room, where you shoved me against the wall and pinned me to it. I remembered how tight your grasp was—my skin bruised later from it. Then you demanded to know why I was giving you the cold shoulder. I didn’t say, but I had been avoiding you because we were done and you wouldn’t leave me be. You were like a constant shadow, following my heel wherever I went. It creeped me out. But I’ve never heard your voice like that before, or seen the darkness in your eyes until that very moment. What happened to the sweet guy I rode the Ferris wheel with at the Jim Wells County Fair? For the first time, I felt afraid of you. Trevor, Ashley, and my other friend Jasmine banged loudly on the door, calling my name. Your lips moved rapidly. I couldn’t move. How did I forget that weeks later? You say sweet nothings, though your actions speak otherwise. And that’s all they are: sweet words with no authenticity.

And here, I can’t move. Not only because of what you’ve done to my wrists, but because my body is rendered incapable of moving properly. My head swims. Everything is numb and cold, so unlike before. My lips move, but I don’t know what I’m saying. Whatever it is, you have no reaction. You continue doing what you do.

I know why you refuse to drink. You told me years ago. So why are you doing this? Why do you find me in this state arousing?

Why aren’t you just holding me?

I don’t want this—I want my arms to be free—I want you off me—I feel like I can’t breathe—I don’t want you touching me. Not like this. Not as I am.

Primadonna girl fill the void, up with Celluloid

Take a picture, I'm with the boys

Get what I want 'cause I ask for it

Not because I'm really that deserving of it

12:35 AM

As I watch your truck disappear from the caliche road, I’m reminded of that day—the week after high school graduation, when you walked through that front door and left. But I feel nothing. You never did walk through the front door after that, until earlier this evening.

There is no in-between, I think to myself as I trudge back to the pool, seeing Sam and Trevor sitting on the side, deep in a conversation, and Ashley and Jaxie laughing about something. There are no transitions. This is all going by so fast…am I crying?

1:30 AM

I’m sitting in my parent’s bathtub with my knees pulled to my chest, sobbing. Beside me, Sam is telling me the story of Harry Styles and his pet chicken, which of course isn’t real. Normally the story makes me feel better when I’m drunk. But not this time.

My stomach aches and churns. I can’t get your face out of my mind. My wrists ache from your belt. I’m so tired. I don’t want to get sick.

“I promise you won’t throw up,” Sam tells me.

“Don’t promise her that,” Trevor says, crouching next to me with a towel in his hands. “She’ll feel better if she does, anyhow. C’mon, Sarah. It’s time for bed.”

The next day, everyone leaves by the afternoon, leaving me and Ashley to my parent’s house that is in the state of a disaster—the empty vodka bottles lying around on the counters, the peach-flavored one outside by the hot tub, empty pizza boxes littering the tables, and empty plastic cups discarded everywhere I look. I’m thankful my parents will be gone for another four days because it’ll take a while to clean this up. We’re quiet this morning, each exhausted and speechless from what happened last night.

Jaxie had thrown up this morning outside by the pool. When my mother called to ask whether I was feeding the dogs, I glanced out the window, saw one of them lapping at Jaxie’s remains of pizza, and calmly replied, “They’re eating great.”

For lunch, we drive into town to get some Dairy Queen. As Ashley pulls into the drive-thru, I send you a text.

Why?

I gaze out the window with hardened eyes as Ashley recites my order. It’s been a long time since I’ve sat in this drive-thru. And just as I’ve remembered, this Dairy Queen takes forever, despite us being the only ones here.

Each time I close my eyes, I see one scene and one scene only despite all the other muddled ones. You and I, in my childhood room.

From my lap, my phone vibrates.

Why what?

Why’d you do that when I was that drunk?

I told you to stop drinking. It’s not my fault you wouldn’t stop.

“I’ve got to hand it to Trevor,” Ashley mumbles when the familiar pop song comes on the radio. She leans forward to turn up the volume. “This song is catchy as hell.”

'Cause I'm a primadonna girl, yeah

All I ever wanted was the world

I can't help that I need it all

            I’m suddenly furious, my neck starting to turn red as well as my ears—my Irish blood boiling. My hands curl into fists. I want to throw my phone out the window. I want the images to be erased. I want to take back the night before. I want to never see you again.

            As the drive-thru opens with the employee handing out our drinks, I’m looking up the Texas state laws regarding legal consent.

            The Issue of Consent under Texas Law: Even when no force or threat of force is used, the defendant knows the alleged victim has not consented and is unconscious or physically unable to resist.

            He probably doesn’t know, I think to myself. That if someone is intoxicated, especially to the point where I was, they cannot give consent...but ignorance doesn’t excuse anyone from the law.

            As I take my first bite of the crispy, warm French fry, I remember a memory with my grandfather on my mother’s side of the family. I don’t remember what led to this conversation, but I’ll never forget his words. I always thought he was being paranoid and had an attitude about people. But the older I get, the more I realize how wise he truly is.

            “As a Pacific,” he told me, referring to my mother’s maiden name that was passed along his Italian mother’s side, “trust nobody except family or yourself. People will steal from you. Cheat you. Some people will knock you outta the way to get what they want, no matter how nice they may seem. So don’t give ‘em a chance to do it, you hear?”

            Ashley and I are driving back to my parent’s house, with a red Chevy truck going 55 miles an hour in front of us—25 below the legal speed limit. Typical rural Texas driving behavior. Ashley’s hands tighten around the wheel, her knuckles going pale from the tension. I look at the text again.  

            Was it my fault? Did I have too much to drink? I can’t remember what I said in my bedroom. I know how I felt, but did I properly vocalize that? I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but then we all went skinny dipping. Was that an open invitation for him to do what he wanted? Was I asking for it?

            Is it my fault?

            I never did text you back. And you never did text me back, of which I’m thankful for. It’s taken me years to come to this understanding, and it’s one that, like the memory, I will never forget. No matter what a woman is wearing, she never deserves being sexually invaded without proper consent. No matter what a woman says, it is not proper consent to touch her how you want when she’s intoxicated with alcohol. With a woman being in that kind of state, you are taking advantage of her. To this day, it boggles my mind how you even wanted that when I couldn’t even speak coherent sentences. It’s cowardice, I’ve told myself. And total lack of respect. Unfortunately, as a society we teach people not to wear certain clothes or not to drink too much, and instead we put the blame on the victims. We don’t spend enough time telling people to respect one another and treat each other the way you’d want to be treated. I did not ask for what you did to me. You were completely sober, and I was utterly drunk. You knew exactly what you were doing.

And as a Pacific, I will give nobody the chance to do that to me ever again. I hear you, Grandpa. Loud and clear.