NOTE: Check out this awesome recording kaelking12 performed for you guys this week! Enjoy the listen!

https://youtu.be/82ViOgN5rc4

CHAPTER 20 

Elias

I wake up alone. 

Face throbbing. Body bruised. Spirit broken. But nobody's stopped to notice. Nobody's stopped to help.

I wait for the earthquake pounding its way through my skull to ease up a little before I try to move. My lungs tense up and cough out a violent reminder of what Josh could've done if he'd kept going.

Just a couple more seconds of squeezing and the pain would've stopped. Just a little more room for a misunderstanding to go terribly wrong and everything would've been over.

But at least if he'd finished what he'd started, I wouldn't have to stick around for the fall out. I wouldn't have to feel like this.

I wouldn't be trying and failing to choke back tears that handfuls of Mission Bay and Cardinal kids are watching me drown in as they pass by.

Even crying hurts.

Salt's slipping down the sides of my face and finding its way into every single cut my best friend left behind. My right eye's swollen to the point where the weight of it's almost too much to keep forcing open.

How the hell am I gonna explain this?

Mom won't know what to do. Tanner won't know what to say. Caleigh won't know how to help me.

I can't go home tonight.

Even if it means begging my way into a party, so I can get wasted to the point where I forget everything that's happened.

My family doesn't need anymore chaos-- and that's all having a best friend like Josh turned out to be.

A disaster dressed up as something pretty. Years of hangouts, kick backs, and conversations all dissolved into nothing because of a girl. Because of me. Because of Josh not hearing me out any longer than his temper would allow him to.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He was supposed to understand.

I was supposed to make him understand.

But he didn't.

The truth was supposed to fix things.

But I couldn't even tell it to him straight. Maybe if I'd figured out the right way to explain what happened, he would've forgiven me.

Now he can't.

He won't.

His fists made things 100% clear, and now that I'm lying here, sprawled out in the dirt, I finally get it.

I get him.

Josh doesn't want to understand. He wants Trish.

Right or wrong.

Liar or not.

He's always wanted someone like her. Someone who'd lie to him so he felt important. Needed. A girl to give him the status and attention he's been after ever since his brother showed him it was possible. He's got big shoes to fill after Marcus, and Trish is his first step in that direction.

Future "it" boy.

Future superstar.

Josh has the whole world ahead of him, and there isn't any space for me in it anymore.

Just girls like Trish. Two-faced liars who'll keep him happy in the bedroom and keep their dirty little secrets hidden from him behind closed doors.

But that's the thing.

If this is who he is now, our friendship is as good as dead.

If this is who I am now, then I'm the one who killed it.

My throat tightens, swells, and nearly pushes me back into another breakdown, but I swallow the impulse and struggle to get to my feet.

I shut my eyes to keep the worst parts of tonight out of my mind, but the memories keep coming. The noise of the fights I had and things everyone said spikes to the point where sound's on the verge of splitting through my skull. Every second that passes forces me to relive every word that Josh said, every punch I took, every mistake I made. And I need a way out.

I need it to stop.

I need a distraction.

I need to forget.

And at this point, I don't care what it is as long as it'll make me numb. As long as it'll shut out the noise.

I stumble over to the closest snack kiosk and scare the crap out of the bright-eyed, chipper looking girl behind the counter. She hides a gasp behind her hand and is quick to recover her salesperson smile. I should thank her for it—acting like nothing's wrong with my face when everything is, but I don't.

"Can I get s-something for you, sir? Popcorn? Or something to drink, maybe?"

I don't know why it happens the way it does, but a bad idea pops into my head and starts taking root like a virus. I don't have to be this guy. The one who gets pity stares from popcorn girls or laughed at by every other person who walks by. 

I can change the story. 

Elias King doesn't have to leave this stadium looking like a loser tonight. He doesn't have to walk around with his tail between his legs so all anybody talks about next week is how he got his ass kicked.

He can become the person that Josh regrets doubting.

That Trish never should've messed with.

The guy no one would ever look down on again.

If the school wants something to remember, I'll give it to them. No matter how far I have to go.

I lean over the edge of the counter and get way closer to Popcorn Girl than a customer probably should.

"Actually, I was hoping to get your number—and a cup of ice, please. I got into it with some kids at Cardinal, and I really need something to turn my night around," I say.

She blushes. Pink creeps up her cheeks and highlights her freckles. I'm silently terrified this whole situation will backfire, but it's worth a shot. She's cute. I like her smile. And the way her autumn red curls frame her heart-shaped face. And that's all l have to like. Just a couple details. A couple things that won't remind me of Lacey or Trish or anyone.

I need a stranger right now. I need this girl to get lost with me about as badly as I need more alcohol to stop caring about the bad decisions I'm going to make. I just hope she goes for it.

I need her to.

Popcorn takes a minute to process what I'm saying and then hands me a cup of ice without her number anywhere in sight.

"Sorry, if I could give you my number, I would—"

"Then you should."

"—but I have a boyfriend."

"That never stopped anybody before."

That didn't stop you.

"Well, I'm not like everybody. Have a goodnight."

I take the cup, mumble a "thank you", and then bolt away from the kiosk and toward the parking lot trying not to come off as humiliated as I feel.

Luckily, the crowd leaving the stadium is too wasted to notice me falling apart. The place is still teeming with people hanging around their cars sipping on "water bottles" filled with exactly the kind of solution I'm stupidly desperate for. I drop any hope of saving face and walk over to a wolf pack of Cardinal guys who look about as wasted as I wanna be.

There's about six of them. Probably sophomores or juniors at most. All of them proudly wearing their Cardinal football tees. Lame. These dudes are cross-town versions of Josh and Marcus's brainless sports "buddies", but I'm desperate. And if there's one thing I know about stupid jocks, it's that they're experts in getting stupid drunk.

I brush the grass and dirt off my clothes, straighten up, and saunter over like I'm older and know exactly what I'm doing.

One of the shorter, scrappier guys of the group approaches me and puts his hand out to stop me from going any further.

"Do we know you?" He asks, and even though he's nearly a head smaller than me, the dude's crazy intimidating. He's built like a pit bull, all muscle, no-nonsense. He could probably snap me in half if he wanted to, but I'm not looking for another fight. If I don't wanna leave on a stretcher, I'll keep things honest—at least enough to get what I need.

"You probably should. I'm not an easy face to forget. You own a television don't you?"

He scoffs and locks his beer-glazed blue eyes on mine.

"Yeah, but I can't say I've seen you anywhere, pretty boy."

"Then you're not looking hard enough. My dad got Mission Bay's star QB kicked off the team—which is why you landed that big time win tonight. Look it up. Malcolm King's all over the news," I say, trying my best not to slur.

Shorty and his friends break off into a series of whispers, whip out their phones, and start tapping away at Google to see if I'm telling the truth. The group calls Shorty over and directs his attention down to their screens. 

I stand there, trying to play it cool while my stomach turns itself inside out over the fact that I went as far as name dropping my father just to get booze. Before regret pushes me to walk away from the situation, Shorty comes back looking a hell of a lot less tough than he was seconds before.

"I'm impressed, King. Looks like you weren't full of it after all."

"I do my best."

"What do you want from us that you can't get from your little Warrior friends?"

"I don't have any Warrior friends. I don't actually give a shit about football. I just wanna get drunk without my brother and his 'Warrior friends' finding out about it, and this seemed like the best option."

Shorty eyes me for a few excruciatingly long seconds to see if I'm actually telling the truth. I just about piss myself waiting to pass the second test him and his friends have thrown my way.

"You want booze?" He asks.

"Yes. I do. I'll give you double what you paid for a bottle of the strongest thing you've got. Win-win for everybody."

Shorty snaps at the two guys chilling on either side of a bright red cooler sitting in the open trunk of their pick-up. They pull out an gallon-sized milk jug filled with something that looks like the fun version of Hawaiian Punch. The dude wearing a backwards hat holds it up to me but refuses to let it go.

"That'll be a hundred bucks. This was homemade with most of my dad's Patron, a decent amount vodka, and Hawaiian Punch, so pay up, rich boy."

Shorty whips around and snaps at his buddy to shush him quiet.

"That's enough, Chris. Just let him have it—"

Shorty faces me again, but this time there's an uneasiness in his eyes I don't expect.

"—You're not gonna tell your dad about this or anything, right?"

I force out a fake laugh that almost fools me into thinking that his last comment didn't sting.

"Of course not, man. Actually, if me and my brother get a weekend on our own, I'll keep you guys in mind if we throw a rager. Free booze and a party by the beach on me."

For the first time since I ran into these guys, all six of them light up. Suddenly, I'm getting high fives all around and an offer to chill with them for a little while. Shorty opens up his truck, pulls out a lawn chair, and waves me over to my new place in the grass.

"You know, you're not too bad for a Warrior. What's your name?" Shorty says as he settles down next to me.

"Elias."

"Ty. Good to meet you. You want some ice for that shiner. It looks pretty bad, man. Who gave you that?"

"My best friend, but fuck that. I have no loyalties tonight unless it's to alcohol," I say, and it's sad how true that is.

"I'll drink to that."

Ty shakes my hand, pours me a full cup of their homemade jungle juice, and I down it fast.

"You're serious about partying tonight, aren't you?" He asks.

I nod because talking is getting painful and exhausting, and I'm not drunk enough yet for the feeling of Josh's fists to fade.

"Me and the guys were thinking about crashing a couple Mission Bay parties around here if you're down. We heard Warrior girls get pretty crazy after homecoming."

"They're always crazy, but tonight's gonna be out of this world. Let's get drunk and get laid!" I say, and I mean every word of it.

The rest of the guys let out a couple of rebel yells, and we all down another round of trouble from our Solo cups. The other guys make an effort to introduce themselves between shots, but I'm too distracted with the alcohol to remember any of their names.

Four drinks later, and I'm too drunk to remember why I went out looking for replacement friends in the first place.

But then again, this is exactly what I wanted.

To drink to the point where I could forget about everything I thought I needed.

Everything I hoped for.

Everything I thought would make me happy.

Because what I'm finally starting to realize is—the only thing I really need to make me happy tonight—is this.

Not best friends.

Not football games.

Not untouchable girls.

Just alcohol.

***

Thank you guys so much for take the time to read/listen to this week's chapter & audiobook! Next update should be next Friday, FEB. 7TH! 

#Realtalkquestion of the Week:

Do you think Elias is on the verge of spiraling out of control or do you think someone will be able to step in and save him from a mistake? If so, who?