“Hey. You want a drink?” she asks, holding up a crystal cut glass toward me like some kind of guardian angel of alcohol, here to save me from my own thoughts.
“Fuck, yes.” I take the glass from her, relieved. I don’t even know what’s in it, but it’s clear and it smells like booze, so that’s good enough for me at the moment. I nod to her and lift the cup in a cheers before downing it in three quick gulps.
I barely taste it as it goes down, and I can only hope the buzz and haze of being a little drunk will set in soon. My heart is aching, already cracking at the edges as the echo of my dad’s voice plays in my ears, and I need something to numb the pain before I do something I can’t take back.
Please don’t die, Dad. Please don’t fucking die.
21
It takes less than a minute for the alcohol to hit me like a semi truck, hot and burning as it kicks me in the gut. My head spins a little, but it’s not the same feeling that I’m used to getting from alcohol. Not even from a strong drink, and the one I just chugged didn’t smell like it was that strong.
There’s a weird taste in the back of my throat, and just from the way I have trouble focusing all of a sudden, I know it can’t just be the booze. Even with the drink and a half I already had, I wouldn’t be feeling like this normally. Something else must’ve been in the cocktail she gave me, and I curse myself for being stupid enough to just throw something back without knowing what it was.
That’s one of the first things my dad taught me when I started going to parties—never leave your drink unattended and never drink something if you don’t know what it is. But in my haste to leave my anger and fear behind me, I didn’t take the time to remember that.
I feel woozy, and I lean against the wall for a second, blinking as I try to force myself to focus on the girl who gave me the drink.
She’s laughing, not in a cruel way, but in a way that makes it seem like we’re both in on some joke.
“What the fuck was in that?” I manage to ask her without slurring my words too badly.
She lifts an eyebrow and shrugs. “It was just laced with a little molly. Just to get the party really going. Isn’t that why you came in here?”
I shake my head, and it sends the world spinning again.
“Why wouldn’t you get something from the bar if you just wanted a regular drink?” she asks, like I’m the idiot here. And maybe I am.
I push myself away from the wall, swearing under my breath as I do. My skin feels too hot, and everywhere the silken material of the dress rubs against me feels like it’s exploding in sensation. I can’t tell if it’s a good sensation or not, to be honest, and I bite back a noise of frustration.
I try to make my way out of the room and through the crowd so I can get some air outside, but as I’m walking down the hall, I can feel the drugs really hitting me hard. The fact that I’m already at least two drinks in is definitely not helping, and I feel like no matter how hard I try to keep my feet on the ground and moving one step in front of the other, it’s impossible for me to not feel like I’m floating.
My head is in the clouds, and the colors from people’s clothes start to blur around the edges. It’s like a rainbow of people, swirling and dancing, and I’m somewhere adrift in the middle of it.
I giggle at the idea of a bunch of gang members stretched out across the sky like a rainbow, stuck in place, glaring and angry about it. It’s a funny image, and for a solid few seconds I can’t stop laughing. Some people pass by and look at me funny, like I’m being weird, but I just keep moving past them, sometimes reaching out for the wall to help keep my balance.
There are so many people here. Fuck. Too many people.
When I get back to the main room, it almost feels like they’re closing in on me. The music is too loud, the bass of it thumping through my body like a heartbeat, and the edges of the crowd seem to thump in closer with every pulse of the song. Someone brushes past me, and I startle hard, the slight contact radiating out from my forearm all the way down my fingers and up to my chest.
I can’t tell if it’s too much or not enough, and I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly so fucking dry.
All of a sudden, I feel very alone. That adrift feeling comes back, and I blink back a few tears. Goddammit. I’m not going to cry here. That would be stupid.
But everything and everyone feels so far away. I don’t know any of these people. I want Scarlett. I want my dad. I want familiar faces and warm arms and someone to touch me with kindness.
If my dad dies, who will be left? Who will be my family?
It’s all so fucking much. I feel like I can’t breathe.
It feels like every one of my emotions are so close to the surface, making it impossible to ignore them as they all fight to be felt right away. The sadness, the loss, the fear, the anger, the strange feeling of arousal. It’s all there, and I feel like the world is hurtling around me, making it so hard to hold on to anything.
I keep moving, trying to find a place to sit down or at least a place to lean where no one can touch me. I walk right into someone on my way to find a couch or something, and when I step back, the blurry form resolves itself into Sloan.
He opens his mouth and then frowns, looking down at me. Before I can brush past him, he grabs my shoulder.
“Look at me,” he demands.
“Fuck off.” I swat at him, trying to fight my way free, but he’s too strong. He’d be stronger than me even if I weren’t loopy as fuck, but if I were in my right mind, I’d have a decent chance of breaking his grip anyway. There’s nothing I can do to get away from him in the state I’m in right now though. I can barely keep track of all my limbs, let alone use them to fight.