A buzz starts at the back of my head. It’s my cue that I drank too much and should probably cut it off.
Well, fuck that side of my brain.
I snatch a bottle of vodka from Summer’s hand and chug half of what’s in there in one go.
The burn picks up where the buzz left off.
The burn means I’ll be able to collapse and sleep without having thoughts I shouldn’t have. I’ll wake up with an epic hangover, but it’ll be worth it.
In other terms, I won’t let my mind take me into dark mazes that have no way out.
As usual in one of Ronan’s parties, it’s full-blown mode. People grind against each other, and other people who won’t shag tonight tell them to get a room. Post Malone is playing in the background, but he’s ignored with the amount of chatter in this place.
Noise.
So much fucking noise.
It’s normally my playground. Their noise means they can’t hear me. Their distraction means they can’t see me, and even when they do, they see what they like to see. Popularity, social status, trust funds that could boost a third world country’s economy.
I’m as rotten as they are, if not worse. I just hide it better.
With the help of my friend vodka.
Summer is blabbering about the shit from today and how her best friend, Veronica, had to go to the doctor – an aesthetic one – to fix her nose and how upset she is, while she drags her fingernails up my thigh.
“If you’re upset, maybe you should be with her.” I smile, speaking with the slightest slur.
I’m drunk as fuck. I know because I hold my liquor well and don’t typically slur. Also, I’m seeing double and Summer shouldn’t have ten fingers on one hand.
Still, I don’t speak as if I’m wasted. That’s the power of being a drunk fool since I knew what drinking was. I would say I blame my mum and her own alcohol problem, but meh, who needs that tearjerker in their lives?
Step one into decimation: mummy issues.
Summer is protesting about some shit, but I’m not focused on the blabbering. I shake my phone as if that will make it magically light up with a text from her.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that all at once like some pubescent with a problem of holding down his wiener.
To my defence, I usually have a wingman, Ronan, to stop me when I’m drunk. He disappeared somewhere, and he’s been acting like a dick all night, which probably means he’s mad at me.
Fuck him, basically.
I’ll have time to regret tonight tomorrow, so I might as well continue the show.
Unlocking my phone, I type.
Xander: Do you still sample Calvin’s collection of tea?
No reply.
Xander: Do you still hide Jeanine’s brushes to have her come out of her studio?
Nothing. Absolute fucking desert.
I don’t know why I want to prove that I know her better than anyone else, that the fucker Ronan or that other metalhead arsehole Knox, Elsa’s brother, would never know her the way I do.
It’s not how it’s supposed to go, but I continue my self-destructive path.
Xander: Are you still scared of horror films but watch them anyway?
Xander: Do you still make wishes upon the stars?
Xander: Do you still want to sleep beside me at night?
I delete the last one before I hit Send, then shake my head.
Fuck this. I’m spiralling down that rabbit hole. I stagger to my feet and Summer protests as she falls on her arse.
Huh. I forgot she was even there. Sorry, I guess.
I hit one person, or three, as I walk on unsteady feet, still gripping the bottle of vodka in my hand.
It takes me what feels like an hour before I finally find who I’m looking for. Cole sits beside the poker table, watching a game between Elites’ team members. His face is calm, almost interested in what he’s watching, but I know he’s fucking pissed off because of a certain someone.
He and I are the same on so many levels. But I’m way worse because I’m fucked up in the head and need someone to stop my thoughts from going in that direction.
“Yo, fuckers.” I raise my bottle, making a show of my drunk state.
Cole’s at my face in a second, gripping me by the nape. He smiles at the others, but when his green eyes fall on mine, they turn deadly.
It’s weird how he has the same eye colour as her, but his hold no beauty at all. Hers can be the reason for my free fall to hell.
“Your eye colour is fucking ugly,” I say.
“What do you think you’re doing, Knight?” he asks with a harsh undertone. “We have a game tomorrow and you’re hammered.”
“Ronan knew and he didn’t stop me. If I’m going to the corner, send him with me, Captain.” I laugh, even though I meant to smile. That’s what happens when you’re drunk – you sort of lose control over your actions.
“Jesus.” He punches me across the face, but it’s not mean like what I hoped for. He’s only doing it to make me sober up.
It’s enough to fill my thoughts with pain instead of the hell trying to break loose in there.
“Go sober up.”
“Yes, Captain.” I grin.
“The bottle.” He extends his hand and I put it in there. “The fuck is wrong with you lately?”
“Your eyes,” I slur.
“My eyes?” I swear he’s smirking in one of the two versions standing in front of me.
“No, not your eyes. The colour. Fucking green.” I slap my palms against his cheeks, smushing his face with the motion. “Why green, though? Just why?”
“Are you going to kiss?” Aiden’s bored voice brings me out from my spiritual questioning.
My vision is slow as I turn towards him. He’s wrapping an arm around Elsa’s waist and tucking her to his side as if he’s ready to kidnap her out of here any second – which will probably happen. Her goth sister with a tendency for sarcasm, Teal, is standing by her side, wearing a T-shirt that reads, I don’t want to be here.
Then get out of the fucking door, sis.
Oh, wait. She won’t, because she’s a masochist like me.
Teal and Elsa are blushing as they watch me and Cole.
Aiden brings out his phone and directs it at us. “Let me commemorate the moment.”
That’s when I realise the position Cole and I are in. I’m grabbing him by the cheeks and he’s staring at me with a bored expression that matches Aiden’s.
“Any second now,” the latter says. “If this can help with your case at the human rights court of law, you have my blessing.”
“Mine, too.” Cole smirks. “I’ll take one for the team.”
“Fuck you both.” I shove Cole away.
I should bleach the colour of his eyes so this shit never happens again.
“Where’s Green?” I ask Elsa, who’s still watching me and Cole as if expecting the show to resume.
Seriously, as much as guys enjoy fantasising about girls together, I’m pretty sure girls fantasise about boys together, too. They’re just not as vocal about it.
That was the Sherlock in me. Now, he’s going to sleep.
Aiden and Cole exchange looks, smiling like two little psychos.
“Green?” Elsa repeats. “Who’s Green?”
Fuck. I said that out loud? I must be drunk out of my mind. I need to get the fuck out of here before I word vomit everything.
“Yeah, Knight.” Aiden feigns nonchalance. “Who’s Green?”
“I think I heard that name somewhere.” Cole taps his chin. “When we were young and –”
I punch him in the shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. The fucker is bored and out to destroy lives because of it.
There’s no way in shit I’ll be the next victim of his sociopathic boredom.
“I know where she is,” I whisper so only he can hear.
“She?” Cole repeats with a semi-serious tone.
“Yes, the she.” I raise an eyebrow. “She went with Ronan.”
And with that, I’m out of the scene.
People hit two birds with one stone, I hit three.
One, I made Cole shut the fuck up. Two, I escaped his and Aiden’s circle of sociopathic tendencies. Three, I directed his wrath towards that little bastard, Ronan.
I swear I come up with the best ideas when I’m drunk.
On my way out, I steal some boy’s cup of alcohol, down it, then steal another one.
They don’t even protest. No one attempts to put a brake on whatever the hell I’m spiralling into. No one dares to punch a minister’s son to teach him some sense.
Fuck you, Dad.
Somewhere along the way, I find myself heading to the garden. The music fades as the chill wraps around me, but instead of waking me up, it turns me a bit more drunk.
On the night, the stars, the fucking world.
You suck, world. You really, really suck.
I throw away the last cup and head to a small covered porch at the back. Kids don’t wander around the area because a) it’s cold, b) Ronan will skin them alive, and c) did I mention it’s fucking freezing.
So I’m surprised to find someone there. She’s dancing, earbuds in her ears and hair flying behind her.
Not someone.
Her.
The one I can’t have.
The only one I can’t fucking have, but I still find myself roaming around and watching anyway.
Her dress falls to her knees but is tight at the waist, showing off the lines of her soft curves.
She’s there, up for the taking, and for whatever scenarios my mind is conjuring at a supersonic speed.
I should go, leave, never return.
But I take a step towards her instead.
I can’t have her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t play with her.
Love is impossible, but hate is an open game.
