Bonfire Of The Vanaties, a Romance fanfic

Story: Bonfire Of The Vanities;

Chapter: One; Of Parties and Groundhog Day

Rating: M, for use of profanities, the consumption of alcohol and drugs and sex.

Summary: She didn't care about saving the world or ending homelessness. She just wanted to be remembered. And as for him, he just wanted to forget they ever met. Charlie meets Matt, one lives to have more, one is just content to get by, one has a plan set in stone, the other builds their dreams under closed eyes. Both need each other more than they would like to admit.

Of Parties and Groundhog Day

"I live for the times I'll never remember with the people I'll never forget."

You’ve been to one party; you’ve been to them all. I’m sorry if I’ve disillusioned anyone but it’s true, that said if the previous statement has offended anyone one feel free to drink until you can’t remember – I might add that Claire’s party punch is particularly good at doing that sort of thing. Making you forget that is, I myself have many a time indulged in that putrid pink liquid that turns ones eyes to glass, your worst enemy into the funniest nicest person on earth ( Oh my god, your so funny, we should totally hang out. Do you have facebook?), turning every single and not so single boy around into the most fuck-able, or at least kissable person imaginable, and making you forget about all the problems that lead you to tilt the plastic cup to your lips in the first place.

We’ve all been there, more than once I’d wager, but really once is all you need. Well maybe twice because the first time is filled with a lot of nerves and a lot of surprised coughing (who knew alcohol burned so much) and I guess that second time is a little more enjoyable, just like sex. The drinks go down a little easier and soon enough all matter of substances are pouring down your throat. Just swallow ladies, suck up your pride and swallow.

But like I said you go to a party and it’s groundhog day , it doesn’t matter if it’s Ashley and Pete or Monica and Alex – the people are all the same, the actions are all the same, sometimes its gin, sometimes its whiskey ( and of course the aforementioned party punch), sometimes its Dan the good kisser and sometimes it’s Kelly the thin lipped experiment in front of the camera ( at least we gave the boys something to get off too), sometimes is ends in front of a toilet and sometimes it ends on a bed in last nights clothes. Either way it’s something for the masses to discuss on Monday morning first period – if there’s drama each detail is dissected, if there is no drama, there is the comparison of who had the worse hangover; either way it ends in a ‘ We so need to do that again’.

Parties have everyone talking , and honestly I don’t have fucking clue why? It really is the same ride each time, well at least with my crowd and maybe that’s part of the problem, when you go to a high school of under one hundred it tends to turn into a little incestuous cesspool of gossip. Which is okay for some I guess, I’m sure we all have our vices and maybe the majority of my acquaintances find theirs in partying. But every time I go, each time the weekend rolls around I find myself easing out of the dancing bodies and into a place where I realise how fucking bored I am; how fucking tired of this same-ness I am – how I am in such need of a change.

But how? I don’t know anyone that can take me, I don’t know anything outside of this small private school crowd, I don’t know anything or anyone that can excite me. And therein lies the problem, maybe there is no one like that and maybe I need to take the reigns myself. Of course I do. Who am I kidding?

This place is suffocating.

I sigh and take another drag from my cigarette – my idea of a solution, of a change? Go to a party where you don’t know anyone (well I have to start somewhere, and if there’s one thing I know how to do, among others, is party – or at least I thought so until now). Admittedly it was exciting for a moment, the lie of getting in, of creating this persona that apparently knew Chuck the thrower of said party from his socials 12 class. ( In my school we don’t even have socials … well we do it’s just not called that, more about my school later though). I thought of creating a faux name but though better of it, no point in embarrassing myself when someone shouts " Jessica" or "Madison" into the air only to have me look around bewildered.

Nope I stuck with my real name, Charlie, well I suppose Charlotte is the real, real name but no one aside from my dentist has ever called me that. Anyway back to the point, it was exciting, sometimes amusing when a drunken girl or guy would stumble up to me ‘going hey I know you, remember than time last year in English when Mr. Davidson showed up drunk’. I would nod and laugh and take an amused sip of my warm beer. Sadly of course the illusion wore off and I found myself disentangling my arms, lips, and thighs from some drunken boy, with dark hair and an eyebrow ring who had claimed to be the sensitive artistic type and momentarily peaked my interest. Key word, momentarily (that seems to be my life right now).

The boy, Evan was it? Had questioned my sudden change in attitude and I had muttered something about the bathroom before making a break for the door, simultaneously opening that pack of cigarettes that were supposed to last me until next month, that I now doubt will see the end of the week. Still I kind of liked the jaded chain smoking woman staring back at me from the reflective surface of the window, at once mirroring myself and giving a pulsating view of the dancing figures inside.

I shrugged carelessly, and flicked a threatening ash off my light. The conclusion had come to me as Eric’s…no Evan’s lips had trailed across my neck. All parties are the same – it wasn’t just my faux hippie private school crowd it was everywhere, it was this town. It wasn’t just the parties it was the people it was everything in this town; there’s no excitement, no mystery left for me. When I was younger there were social walls to climb, awards to win, kisses and sex to experience and now I’ve been there, done that and for some god forsaken reason I can’t retrieve excitement or enjoyment from repeating the actions. Well sex yes but not here, not with these people. Not in this town.

He had never thought of himself as the jealous type. In fact as far as boyfriends go he had always considered himself to be a good one, no an excellent one. The kind that can cuddle after a date instead of pushing for sex (although he’d never turn it down), the kind that bough flowers, candy and chocolate on Valentines and made a point to remember the sixth month anniversary and the year long anniversary. (The one month one is a stretch, and as for three, who the hell celebrates three when you can have six?)

Sure he had his faults, he was after all only human after all, He had flirted with another girl occasionally, and high fived his buddies when a hot chic walked by, but he had never cheated or really thought of doing so. All in all, as far as girls came, he’d say he was a pretty decent guy and an excellent boyfriend.

But even he had his limits, and catching his girl lip locking with a junior- even if it was just an accident as she had told him shakily-, catching her kissing another boy, not matter the circumstance is definitely crossing the line.

He had though, he thought responded somewhat maturely. Instead of pounding the living shit out of that scumbag and throwing him outside, which his gut instinct had whole heartedly supported, he had unclenched his fist and calmly told the boy to ‘ get the fuck out of my sight’. Which he thought was pretty decent, considering the fact that some of his buddies had offered to help him in the royal beating of a lifetime. Instead he had inwardly seethed, glaring at the boy as he stumbled out of the room in fear. A fear, which he understood, an angry varsity football player is not someone you want to linger in a room with no matter how nice of a guy he usually claimed to be. Even his girlfriend had begun to edge out before he had grabbed her wrist (gently of course, he would never hurt a woman) and steered her towards the dance floor. No this is not Save the Last Dance where all problems are sorted out with dancing but rather he wanted to deal with this in a calm public place that wouldn’t result in them screaming at each other. Rachel his girlfriend was from one of those old money families that cared a lot about public appearances and he knew she would refrain from yelling in public.

Sadly he had been wrong.

" Matt. Why won’t you fucking believe me? It was an accident, an a.c.c.i.d.e.n.t!"

He clenched his fists again, and rolled his eyes. He didn’t like fighting and now that the initial burst of anger had died down he felt hot and bored with it. They were standing now, several feet apart, Rachel looked near tears and the rest of the dancing teenagers looked at them in interest, swaying only slightly as they calculated the chances of a break-up. He could imagine his football buddies laughing at him in the kitchen, he was going to have it at practice tomorrow.

As for the break-up, it wasn’t going to happen not yet at least, here in the middle of a dance floor. They had been together long enough to deserve a proper goodbye somewhere private and civil. And he wasn’t quite sure if he was read to let go of her yet, she represented a lot of what he had worked for, blonde, fun, even knew a thing or two about football. It was senior year and the single life wasn’t was tantalising as it used to be, besides Rachel had been his first, as he had for her that had to stand for something didn’t it? It wasn’t like they were married or anything although he could see the knowing looks his mom and Rachel’s mom shot each other whenever they were together, planning the bouquets and bridesmaids dresses already. At first that had shocked him enough to want to bolt, but marriage didn’t seem like a horrible idea, not to Rachel, she was nice, he was nice, what they had was nice and he wasn’t ready to drop it over some accident. At that thought the unwanted image of that boy and Rachel popped into his head, he grimaced. Not ready to break up he may be, but he certainly wasn’t in the mood to forgive her just yet.

He walked up to her for a moment, her lower lip was trembling but he couldn’t quite bring himself to comfort her yet, not here in this chaotic room full of sweaty teenagers eyeing him and Rachel like fresh cut meat.

" Look Rach, it’s been a long night. I don’t want to have to do this right now. I’ll call you tomorrow k?"

A tear made its way down her cheek, he glanced out the window, wanting to leave.

" B-but Matt-

" Not now, I’ll call you"

"- Kay. Fine."

Her tone was defeated but he was already turning away.

He sighed, put his hands in his pockets and rushed out of the room.

I exhale a cloud of smoke, watching through the window as a couple yelled at each other in the middle of the dance floor. People around them were just beginning to realise and soon a sort of ring had formed around them. It was interesting to look at actually, and for a moment I longed to be a photographer, to click and button and capture that moment artfully. It was a sight to behold, the ring of grinding teenagers aching to get closer and the two in the middle eyes blazing and aching to one up each other and be as far away as possible.

Soon though I felt my eyes glaze over as the scene grew old and tiresome, the couple were still shouting and the hormone driven dancers were still grinding- I was bored.

I know I sound like some prick, and in a sense I am but don’t get the wrong idea about me here. I’m no bitch, I’ve never called anyone fat or stupid (well at least not to their face). I just have this sense of the world as it is, and this deep longing for more. A while ago I quelled this desire with smaller goals of looks, grades and popularity – little trivial goals- some I attained some I didn’t. But now I long for freedom and chaos, especially chaos, and love and …everything I long to really, truly… live.

That’s not to say my life isn’t good as it is, I know lots of people in the exact same situation who are completely satisfied with their lives, it’s just me …well I’m not. And the fucked up thing is there is nothing visibly wrong with my life, there’s no deep rooted problem, just a deep rooted unrest.

The positive side to this is I have only one year left, and although I sometimes toy with the idea of dropping out and just running away to somewhere fantastic and crazy-dangerous I have made it my final ‘little’ goal to graduate. Which considering my past years of scholarly experience shouldn’t be that much of a problem. This unrest business however…

"Fuck"

A stray ash dances it’s way from my cigarette and down my shirt, I grimace, do I risk looking an idiot and reach into my cleavage to get it or do I let it rest? I let it stay, a mildly hot pinprick of pain but a pull a T-shirt out of my purse (the emergency T-shirt that has on occasion come in handy when either myself or someone else has drunk a little too much). I pull my compact out as well and check for any signs of smudged lipstick or melted liner.

Two brown eyes stare back at me, my carefully applied makeup unable to change restlessness that shone through. I had always though it was unfair that I had brown eyes – hazel to be more accurate, but brown from afar nonetheless. I had inherited the classic features of a blue eyed blonde hair girl and yet somewhere along the way between the fair hair and that pale much-too-easy-to-burn-skin, my father’s genetics, which hadn’t played much of a dominant role, decided to give brown eyes.

Nothing makeup and contacts can’t hide though.

Makeup has always been a large part of my life, and I don’t mean this in the cliché conceited way of Hollywood cheerleaders but in a I truly to value it’s …contribution to my life sort of way. I’m not naturally beautiful, I’m not that girl, that one who pretends to no nothing of her looks (though she secretly does) and who hops out of bed looking gorgeous and needing only to slather on a hint of gloss if necessary. I’m not – and lets be honest here girls …who really is? Everyone and I mean everyone pays attention to their looks – and the ones who ‘don’t’ well they take hours trying to prefect the I-don’t-give-a-fuck-about-my-looks look. Pathetic of course, but true, we all care about our appearance ( it is the 21st century after all), and I am no stranger to that. I go to school, I go out and I turn heads, not because of my stunningly gorgeous features, nope those would belong to my two best friends. Alexis with her finely carved European bone structure blue eyes and long blonde hair, and Marina with her Mexican warmth and exotic, erotic appeal. And yet I walk down the street with the knowledge that I’ve broken more hearts than they have, I’ve had more boys tumbling over my plain prettiness than their collective, unattainable beauty.

How you might ask?

Attitude – it’s all in how you carry yourself, and all in how you interact with the opposite sex. Alexis for instance, upon meeting a boy will launch into her own mini biography, complete with her plans for the future and her idea of the perfect man ( Brad Pitt of course). But it’s too much, she’s too nice, too pretty and too willing, where’s the mystery, where’s the danger, where’s the excitement? And though the boys may be too smitten with her blue eyes and ample cleavage to register that they’re asking such questions, on an unconscious level they’re already planning their next fuck. Poor Alexis has come to me many a time in tears over her latest heartbreak, and while I sympathise, it’s completely her doing that has her in tears. She’s the Jennifer, whereas I’m the Angelina ( without the looks of course), I represent what boys truly desire – danger and excitement, and though I may not look the part, I act it, a little mystery in my smile, a swing in my hips and the unspoken question: "Want to have some fun?". Of course the makeup helps too, and the push up bra, never underestimate the power of a good push up bra.

Enough about my looks though – nobody likes a vain person.

"Hey Charlie, you coming back in?"

It’s Evan, he’s leaning against the doorframe in an overly posed sense of relaxation. I look him up and down again, toying with the idea of fucking him before shaking my head.

I smile at him coldly, he’s pretty cute actually; the kind of boy one would meet at a concert. (I once had this idea of being a band-aide, like Penny Lane in Almost Famous. so I went to concert after concert, but I’ve never quite had the courage to make it back stage). I’ve met many of him before, their all charming in a sort of faux bad boy way, with the dark hair and liner. I’ll meet another one soon enough, though, and besides I’m sure Evan will wander off to seduce the next prettier face that comes his way.

" You sure?"

I look away from him, bored. Men never like it when they’re refused and their natural reaction of course is to chase until they can nurture their hurt pride. It’s all animalistic, after all aren’t we nothing but mammals. I can feel Evan waiting for me to answer, but already my thoughts have drifted away – New York floats though my mind, the city that never sleeps, I belong there, I just know it.

I look back a minute later to find the doorway empty, save for the sounds of the party filtering though. I shut the door, surrounding myself once again with the company of quiet and the cool embrace of the night. If people aren’t exciting enough, a least one has their dreams.

I stub my cigarette and reach for another.

Only to have it knocked, rudely I might add, out of my hand by a figure rushing out the door in a hurry.

I swear on instinct and when he turns to apologise and a slow smile works its way into my face. It was the boy who had been fighting earlier on, I can feel my stomach erupt with a satisfied feeling. He was cute. I let my smile morph into a grin; suddenly this party had become just a little more interesting.

He felt drunk, he wasn’t, at least not fully -Although he had down several shots after leaving Rachel standing, physically he wasn’t drunk but he felt like it. It was perhaps the intensity of the night, he never fought with Rachel, never. And the very fact that they now seemed to be on opposite sides left him reeling; drunk. He got up quickly, passing his beer to the first empty handed person he saw and rushing out the door. Chuck would give him his coat at practice. Right now he just needed to get some air, he needed out.

In his haste, and perhaps due to the few drinks in his system he didn’t bother looking ahead as he walked, his eyes turned inward to his thoughts, leading him of course into an inevitable collision. The person with which he was to collide was left entirely up to chance and circumstance, something which his collidee was a firm believer him. She did not let him in on that secret yet, instead furthered their unorthodox introduction by swearing profusely.

"Fucking hell"

He stopped at the sound of a female voice, he had been hoping that he had just bumped into a guy, one of his football buddies outside to take a hit of something smokeable and green. Instead a smooth, distinctly feminine voice filled his ears laced with anger as was apparent in her words.

He turned, feeling the first sign of an emotion he identified as guilt, something which tomorrow he would become very close with.

" Look I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watchi-"

He stopped short at the smile on her face, her eyes are on him as she pulls another cigarette out of her purse. Her smile is wide but something in him sincerely doubts she’s the least bit happy.

She spoke to him, her gaze intent with something unsettling. Her words holding no mention of her anger before.

" I liked your little fight back there - this party was turning into a snoozefest until your girl decided to go psycho on you"

He choked on his breath, startled at her abruptness but found himself slightly amused nonetheless.

It was in this instance that he chose to do what most teenaged males do when inebriated and talking to someone of the fairer sex. He looked her up and down. A small smile made it’s way onto his face, not too bad, although in his experience of being a well liked boy he had seen better. Still girls were girls and she was girlie in the curvy appealing sense, a nice rack actually he thought frowning at the t-shirt which covered it a little too well. Being the (hopefully) respectable guy that he was he brought his eyes up to study her face. She was pretty in that blonde freckled way, not stunning or unique by any means, small nose, pale skin and a thin glint of a silver ring wrapping around her full lips. But there was something about her eyes – not necessarily the physical appearance, they were a hazel colour and quite round, innocent looking. Almost too innocent for the expression behind her eyes was anything but …there was something unreadable, dangerous almost and he found himself needing to look away and yet unable to.

Looking back he should have taken that as a warning, should have said goodnight and turned to reconcile with Rachel. But he didn't, instead he smiled, albeit a little shakily and stuck out his hand.

" I'm matt - and that 'psycho' was my girlfriend Rachel"

He felt the need to defend their relationship (did they still have one?) for some reason. prove to her that his life was just fine that way it was and that snooze fest parties were okay by him, that is of course why beer was invented was it not?

She took his hand lazily, not shaking it but squeezing it lightly, he shivered at the coolness of her touch.

" You can call me Charlie"

Charlie, he mused, plain but unusual ... it fit he decided, and then he pulled his hand away from hers, suddenly feeling awkward. He would replay this scene over and over the next morning as he lay in bed, repeating this particular onslaught of nerves with a sort of detached curiosity. He liked to call himself confident, not cocky, unless of course it was about football however that was an entirely different matter. But he was confidant- or rather at ease with pretty much every situation life had thrown at him so far. He wasn't of course perfect he still sweated over exams and what to buy his mom for mothers day but never had he been so shaken upon meeting someone, never had he felt so out of his comfort zone.

She smirked as his sensing his discomfort, and then she settled against the wall, raising the cigarette to her mouth and taking a drag.

He swallowed, wondering if now would be the appropriate time to leave, he would he decided, he'd had a rough night what with Rachel and now this, it was time to go. And yet several minutes later he found himself in the same position, hands in his pockets, mouth slightly parted as he watched the trails of grey smoke swirl upward and dissipate.

She had made no move to acknowledge him as he stood in limbo, her gaze and mind apparently else where, now though he could feel her eyes looking at him intently. Almost reluctantly he looked at her, warily meeting her gaze. She wasn't smiling but she seemed to be appraising him silently. His hands twitched in his pockets and he felt the need to bolt or scream and run or do ...something.

He spoke suddenly and he found when he spoke that his voice was the same self assured, low slightly gravely tone it always was. He took some comfort in that and a small smile worked it's way onto his lips. Matt the high school football star, Matt the decent, okay good looking four-time mvp award winner. Matt the socializer, he could do this, this was no different than any other girl he had talked to tonight, this was his speciality, this was his prime.

" I don't think I've seen you around Hansdworth anywhere" see nice friendly " I'd have remembered you if I had" Slightly flirtatious , nice one Matt " where do you go?" and a chance for her to answer. good going.

He grinned.

She took another drag of her cigarette, looking slightly bored before blowing out the smoke hurriedly. She grinned and Her eyes shone; he lost whatever comfort and calm he had fought for in the last two minutes.

" I could tell you right away but where would the fun be in that?"

"I-"

She interrupted him smoothly

" You see Matthew, I could tell you my sign, my high school and a little bit of my likes and dislikes. I' sure we could talk rapidly for about fifteen minutes until we realise that there’s nothing more to ask and one of us gets up and leaves. Because, after knowing someone for fifteen minutes there really isn't much to talk about after social niceties. Unless you want to start on that movie you saw last week, or that weird girl in your AP English class but that would be boring both of us to tears and what’s the point?"

He swallowed nervously, his palms sweating in the dark pockets of his jeans. Somewhere he managed to find the brain capacity to speak, although he was slightly dazed and his words felt distant and fuzzy.

" Okay, what would you do in my situation, if asking doesn't get us anywhere?"

She smiled again, as if expecting his words. He noted with …some happiness was it? That her eyes were more engaged now, it was almost as if she was enjoying this, it gave him an odd sort of satisfaction and briefly and somewhat selfishly he wondered if that’s what an unpopular person felt when talking to him.

" Well my friend that’s why games were invented" …

I know I know ... there is waaay to much self centered narration on Charlie's behalf I was kind of hoping to get it out of the way in the first chapter to make way for more action in the ones to come. Sadly I lack the skill to blend the narration and character development in, but hey practice makes perfect, or at least readabilty.

Please review, any comments suggestions would be appreaciated greatly, I"m really nervous about posting this I've never done a multi chaptered fic on fictionpress before but I thought it was time.

The second chapter should be up soon, it was origionally written as part of chapter one but I found it too much so i"m editing it a bit and will post soon.

LOVE LOVE

-Ani