Page 46 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

October 24, 2018

“I’m ready to cut thisdamn thing off myself,” Cat mutters irritably as she tosses another T-shirt onto her bed. Her cast is clunky, so wearing anything snug fitting is impossible for her. She eventually decides on an off-the-shoulder pastel pink top that she wore last Friday. “I’m so tired of wearing the same thing all the time.”

I pull my lips in and try not to comment on that. My sister has no fashion sense and wears the same thing pretty much every day. She lives in sweatpants and baggy T-shirts with only a slight variation in color. And that was even before she broke her arm. I help her change into her clothes, then grab the brush to brush her hair while she fastens the Velcro straps of her sling.

“Do you want me to braid it...or make a cute upstyle?” I ask.

“No, just do what you always do. Anything else is too much work. A bun is fine.”

“Okay.” I scoop her curls up and twist them into a bun, using a few pins to secure it. “Are you gonna catch a ride with me to school today?”

“I’m not getting into a car with some random guy. These boys who offer to pick you up are disgusting pigs!”

“Stop being so melodramatic. Besides, Lana is picking me up today, not some random guy. Only Charlotte will be with her, so there’s plenty of space. Just come with us.”

She gives me a look like I should know better. “I don’t like that girl. I don’t like any of your friends, actually. So, no thank you. I’ll walk.”

“It’s a forty-minute walk, Cat.”

“I prefer walking over being stuck in a car with girls who are bitchy and fake. Do you realize that yourfriendCharlotte is the one who starts all the rumors about you? She tries to act all sweet and innocent, but she’s a snake and?”

I know this is going to turn into a lecture about them being a bad influence, how Lana is a terrible friend because she encourages me to drink. I decide to end it there. “Suit yourself.”

And that’s the extent of our conversation. I miss how we used to be. We used to talk about anything and everything. We used to stay in our pajamas all day and binge-watch whatever was the latest crime series on Netflix. We were inseparable and now I feel like we barely know each other. I just want everything to go back to how it was. And maybe that’s slowly happening.

My mother’s vivacious attitude is making a welcomed comeback. She was so irate on Saturday night when I got inside after my date with Dylan that she woke Cat up, sat us both down, and gave usthe talk. She went on for an hour about how we should practice safe sex and told us all about the teenagers she sees at the hospital who are burdened with the responsibility of an unwanted pregnancy because they couldn’t keep their legs closed. I should’ve been annoyed, but I enjoyed every second of it because I loved seeing that side of her again.

Cat’s depression also seems to be easing because I found her dancing in the kitchen this morning. It was something my dad used to do and watching her do the same thing brought an instant smile to my face, even though my heart was cracking on the inside.

Both of them are making steady progress, but not me. No, I’m crawling toward my former self at the pace of a drunken sloth. There are days where I feel like I’m going backward. Last Friday, I got so drunk Tommy had to pull over on the side of the road on the way to work because I needed to throw up. Saturday was okay because Dylan kept me occupied and I didn’t get a chance to drink, but Sunday I was right back at it. Tommy says I’m becoming an addict, but I realized two things on Saturday.

One, I don’t crave the alcohol itself; I crave the numbness it provides, so if I don’t feel the pain, I don’t need the alcohol. And two, hugs really are a great source of therapy. While a hug doesn’t bring on any form of numbness, it creates a chemical imbalance, a weird dopamine effect that is somehow more effective than alcohol in the treatment of pain. However, the odds aren’t stacked in my favor because it’s easier to get alcohol than hugs. My designated hugger is in denial.

We’ve had our usual ten-minute chat every morning so far, but it’s Wednesday already, and not once has he brought up our date on Saturday. And it was a date, but Dylan is trying to re-write history and erase that fact. He’s adamant that he doesn’t want anything more, and I don’t know why I’m finding it so hard to accept that.

Scratch that. I do know why. I like him. So much. Saturday was an emotional catalyst and my feelings started spiraling out of control. My little crush has evolved into full-blown butterflies in the stomach, complete with daydreaming and doodling during class. I mean, who does that? Losers like Charlotte, that’s who. I’m supposed to be above that. I’m trying to convince myself that it’s driven purely by an unquenchable thirst for the D. He’s a challenge, a conquest, the one who’s off-limits. People always chase the one thing they can’t have, right? But no. Genuine feelings are hiding inside this lust bus as it barrels down the bumpy, unpredictable road of mixed messages.

I hear Lana honking outside a few minutes later. I grab my bag and leave without saying goodbye.

“Hey,” Lana greets as soon as I jump into the passenger seat. “Love the outfit. Not formal, but not too casual, either.”

I went with a straight-cut navy-blue pin-stripe skirt, a white shirt, and white sneakers.

Lana reaches over and undoes the top two buttons of my shirt. “Gurl, you have the sexiest cleavage. Flaunt it.”

As soon as we pull away from the curb, Charlotte sticks her face between the two front seats. “So, are you still going with David to Sean’s Halloween party on Friday night?”

I was hoping someone else would’ve asked me by now, but I think I need to accept that it’s not going to happen. Monday went by and nothing. Tuesday went by and still nothing. I’m not optimistic that today will be any different.

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