Page 62 of Quarantined
“I really don’t know.” I shrug.
“Right.” Milo looks tense like he wants to say more, but he is biting his tongue.
“You okay?”
“I didn’t know you guys went to this party every year,” Milo says skeptically. “Are there going to be drinking, drugs, any parental supervision? I don’t have any details.”
I don't understand Milo or his apprehension. Reid and I go to tons of parties. Milo knows we drink. There was a full-on war about it.
Reid and Milo got into it a bunch of times because Reid started drinking at fourteen. Milo put a stop to it. Reid went off, calling him a hypocrite since Milo also started drinking at a young age. Milo explained that he did not have good caretakers to look out for his well-being. Reid did.
Milo felt very strongly about us drinking, so I never gave him any grief about it. I always declined Reid’s offers to join him for a drink, scared that Milo would find out and be disappointed.
Reid did not agree with Milo’s "do as I ask, not as I do," parenting methods. In fear of Reid rebelling further, Milo made a deal with him. Reid and I would be allowed to go to any parties that we wanted, including Milo’s "infamous" parties, as long as we abstained from drinking until we were in college. But if he caught us drinking, even once, he would lock us up indefinitely.
Reid re-negotiated that deal. Reid agreed to stop drinking temporarily, with the understanding that when we turn sixteen, we would be allowed to drink at parties and social events, as long as we were safe about it.
At that point, Milo thought sixteen was too far away. He gave in, hoping that by the time we were old enough to cash in on the deal, our dads would be back from their assignments. They could discipline us. Till then, his job was to keep us alive.
As we neared our sixteenth birthday and our dads' assignments were extended, Milo looked like he was ready to split his hair. But despite how hard it was for him; Milo kept his word. He always did. Milo says we need to trust each other. And if we give each other our words, we must make a point to keep it.
So when we turned sixteen, Milo looked the other way while we drank. He did give us a bunch of "safety" lectures before we turned sixteen. To this day, Milo still sits us down to provide us with refreshers on "what not to do".
Don't get blackout drunk.
Don't mix alcohol and drugs.
Don't drink and stumble around the city. If you are at a safe place, stay there.
I also got some additional talks for being a girl.
Watch out for roofies.
Don't accept a drink you didn't make.
Don't get so drunk that you are not in control.
We mostly follow his rules. Reid and I break them once in a while, like during our birthdays and special occasions. We have gone to plenty of parties and have always been safe. As long as we followed his rules, Milo never gave us a hard time. So, why is this suddenly a problem?
“Does it matter?” Tonight’s line of questioning is throwing me off. “We go to parties all the time. We are careful. Reid hasn’t gotten out of line since we were fourteen. I always keep an eye out on him. Even if you don’t trust Reid, I've never given you a reason not to trust me.”
Milo tenses and doesn’t respond.
What the fuck!What is that supposed to mean?
“You do trust me, don’t you?” I try again for reassurance.
Milo stays quiet, eyeing me apprehensively. I say nothing and go back to cleaning up. I can feel Milo’s eyes burning through me.
“Just come to my room when you get home. I’ll leave the door open.” Milo doesn’t even look at me, as he dismissively walks away.
There it is.
Come to my room.
It's the same four words every night. I used to love going to Milo’s room, talking to him for hours on end. Now every time he says it, it seems like a dirty request. It shouldn’t be. We have slept on that bed without having sex.
Just earlier this week, I had my period. It lasted four days. I wanted to abstain from sex during my period. Milo still instructed me to come to his room every night. We watched movies and YouTube videos. He just held me, kissed me. I felt cherished.
