eighteen // monte carlo

                                    

                                          
"Oh, my god. I cannot believe I never taught you about this. I cannot believe you went out into the great big world with such an integral gap in your knowledge. How did you relate to people? How did you make friends? How were you even allowed in Monaco? I failed you as a woman, as a friend and as a human being, and that is a burden I will carry with me to my grave."
Will looked at me with utter disbelief. 
I wasn't exactly surprised when he knocked on my bedroom door twenty minutes ago–we were "going back to normal", after all–but I was surprised to find a gigantic flatscreen television in his arms. Then again, normal for Will and me had always involved watching chick flicks together every time we (or, usually, me) had a violent hangover. 
Although, I felt surprisingly okay after yesterday; the vileness of Nate's comments, the seriousness of our conversation and my spiralling thoughts last night about Tommy Aster, of all people, had sobered me right up. 
I wasn't going to let Will know that I was feeling okay. I loved our chick flick marathons. 
Apparently, as my landlord, he had made the unilateral decision that my already disproportionate rental agreement wasn't fair unless I had a TV in my bedroom, which he'd explained to me as he mounted it to the wall (when had Will become so... handy?) and logged into every streaming service from his accounts. 
I, of course, thanked him for this service by rectifying an evident error in Will's education. 
Will folded his arms, looking down at me. He was standing next to the television, observing his handiwork and checking that it wouldn't fall off the wall and crush me. I was sitting on my feet at the end of my bed, bouncing with excitement at the prospect of introducing him to a triumph of cinema. 
He did not seem impressed by my generosity. "Isabelle, I cannot stress enough how much it does not matter that I haven't seen Monte Carlo."
"That's because you haven't watched it, and don't understand the cinematic masterpiece you've been missing out on."
"Jonah rented Se7en." Will eyed me beseechingly. "You don't want to watch that?"
I held a hand up to my ear. "I'm sorry, did you miss the part where I said cinematic masterpiece?"
"Se7en won awards."
"So did Monte Carlo. At the Hollywood Teen TV Awards."
Will raised a brow. "How do you even know that?"
"Because you're predictable and I Googled it half an hour ago."
Now that I had a television, it was inevitable that I was going to drag Will in here multiple times a week and subject him to terrible movies and shows that he will hate. He was the one who begged for normalcy, so he only had himself to blame. 
And, in what was the most obvious sign we were back to normal, Will sighed and his shoulders slumped. He always relented in the end. Sucker. 
He looked at the movie poster on the screen, Selena Gomez staring out at us. "You really haven't said anything to convince me that I might enjoy this movie."
"Leighton Meister wears a really hot blue bathing suit for a really long portion of the movie."
"You've said maybe one thing to convince me I might enjoy this movie."
I patted the spot on the bed next to me. "Don't awkwardly stand over there. Come sit down so I can press play." Will sat at the very edge of my bed, with maybe half an asscheek on the mattress. I raised a brow at him. "Um, you're hovering, and it's freaking me out."