Catch-22 | SFK

V

To let go, or to hold on even tighter?

Listen while reading: Everywhere, Everything - Noah Kahan

Warnings: angst, fluff, underage drinking, underage smoking, making out, talks of heartbreak/break ups, anger, anxiety, sadness/depression, long emotional talks, hurt/comfort (platonic), nightmares, lots of existential dread/crisis, mentions of blood/bleeding, swearing, sorry if i miss any!!

The taste of cheap beer lingered on your lips and the smell of cigarette smoke clung to your clothes. Just an hour earlier, before the moonlight struck the sky, you had anxiously waited in the long line at the general store on the corner of main street and west avenue. Your foot was tapping against the ground as Sam held a 40oz close to his heart, also nervous but trying his best to keep it hidden. When you reached the cashier who looked no older than twenty-five, he casted you a knowing glance as you placed the glass bottle on the plastic shield that was protecting their stock of scratch-off tickets.

"I.D., please." He sighed, knowing that he would be met with a nervous response as Sam tried to find an excuse as to why he didn't have one. Instead, he pulled out his wallet and flashed the card to the cashier. You had to admit, the fake was scarily realistic, but you still had your doubts. The older boy read over the information, and with a shrug of his shoulders he scanned the barcode. "Is that everything?"

"Can I also get a pack of Malboro Reds?" Without argument, the employee turned to the metal cabinets lining the wall behind him as he searched for the correct label. Eventually, he slid one open and pulled out a tiny cardboard box that was perfectly wrapped in plastic film. He scanned it and placed it on the counter with the alcohol. Sam handed him a fifty, and you watched as the cashier counted out the change.

"Have a good night." He said, watching the two of you as you each grabbed an item.

"You, too." Sam said, surprised by his own confidence. With that, you turned to the door and pushed it open, stumbling into the warmth of the summer evening. You looked over your shoulder at Sam, a laugh stuck in your throat as you took off into a run. He cursed your name, but it was with blatant love, then tried to catch up to your fast pace.

Your ran all the way to the park, where you stopped in the corner of the dew covered field nestled behind a few large oak trees. From there, you waited for him to join. You grabbed a blanket from your backpack, throwing it down on the grass to make the scene just a little more comfortable.

When Sam finally slowed to a stop in front of you, he was breathless from running the distance, but there was a smile stuck on his lips. He was happy to be in your company, and nothing could ever change that. You twisted the cap off the forty, the sizzle of carbonation filling your ears as you pressed the bottle to your mouth, tilting your head back as you took a long drink. You swallowed it down, grimacing at the taste but so high on life that it didn't even matter. Sam sparked up a malboro, the smell immediately sticking to your clothes to ensure you would not get away with your night of shenanigans without punishment from your parents.

"Can you believe we got away with that?" He said, coughing at a particularly harsh inhale of smoke.

"Not really." You laughed, shaking your head. "Guess that fake is way better than we thought." The adrenaline coursing through your veins was making you woozy; your heart was thudding against your chest and your body felt light.

"We need to get you one, too." He passed you the lit cigarette, the cherry red ember glowing in the darkness of the night. "You're gonna need it. I won't be there with you to use mine all of the time."

Now, you were drunk and starting to feel sick from the amount of smoke you had inhaled. Sam's hand was resting on your own and music was drifting through the speaker of your cell phone, which was a broken hand-me down from your oldest sister. School would begin again in two weeks, and your nights of staying out until four a.m. were nearing an end. This time, returning to school was not as simple as packing a backpack full of notebooks and hopping on the school bus that stopped in front of your childhood home every morning. It was packing your whole life up into boxes and playing Tetris to fit them all into the car, and then driving three hours away to a completely new place where you would essentially start your life from nothing all over again. More than that, it was leaving to start new and leaving Sam behind. The thought killed you, and neither of you cared for saying it aloud.