9
David
Itake Em to one of my parties. She was insistent, pouting like a child. I finally caved. It's awful. I hold her close to me like a possessive father. My friends stare at her.
She's wearing a black dress that zips in the back. Her hips and butt look stunning tonight. I keep my hand draped around her waist. She looks up at me with big eyes, and I notice her long black eyelashes contrasting the deep green of her irises.
“See, nothing great here. We can go do something else, Em.”
She rolls her eyes, and yet she still makes me smile. “Oh my god, David, please.”
She shakes away from my grasp and walks toward a counter cluttered with bottles of alcohol. She pours herself a mix of something in a plastic cup. My gaze is glued to her hips as she leans into the counter. She turns back to me, ringlets of red hair framing her softly freckled face.
Garrett walks up to me and gives me a half hug. He's blasted and laughing.
“Are you straight, man?” Garrett stares at me as if I’m a foreigner.
“Yeah, I’m staying sober tonight,” I yell over the music.
“Why?” He cocks his head slightly, as if he can't seem to grasp the fact that I will remain sober for the duration of this party.
I gesture toward Emily. Garrett nods as if he understands. Emily is an anchor tonight. A beautiful anchor. She’s keeping me grounded. I will not float off and head upstairs to get high or fuck.
Em walks up to me and hands me one of the cups.
“A big ol' cup of rum for you, and a coke with a splash of rum for me.” She smiles because she has never been a big drinker.
“You poured these yourself, right?”
“Yes, Dad!” She giggles as if I’m joking or being overly paranoid.
I take a hearty swig of my drink, trying to wash away the thought of the drugged girls who end up naked and alone with men at these parties—the type of men I warn Em about. It’s why I didn't want to bring her here in the first place.
She looks up at me, oblivious to the surrounding glares. She’s focused on me, like an obedient dog relishing an exciting new adventure in a park she's never been to.
Emily is a newcomer, and she was right. She doesn't quite fit in. She reeks of naivety, her eyes wide with wonder. She tugs at her dress with anxious hands, which contradicts the confidence of the room. Everyone knows everyone here, and they smell a stranger. I have to keep the wolves and the vultures from circling in wait.
Garrett pulls me away from Emily. “Man, I got the best stuff upstairs,” he says with a grin.
“What kind?” I bite.
“Coke, heroin, E... you name it, I got it,” Garrett says, thinking he has me by the balls.
A pang races through my nose. The prospect of drugs is enticing, and the temptation is powerful. I ache at the thought of losing my mind, taking my face off, and enjoying myself tonight.
“Ah, Garret. I can’t.” It physically pains me to say these words. My hands tremble slightly and I rub them on my jeans to steady them. I look back at Emily.
“Dude, she's fine. Fucking relax!” he says, much too loudly.
Has he always been this loud? I feel antsy and unsettled.
“Why are you being such a pussy tonight, man?” he yells. His lips are pursed. He takes a deep, audible breath.
I shake my head. He's so off his face, he's undeserving of a response. I push past him, accidentally shouldering him. He curses behind me.
“David? Is that you?”
I'm stopped by a woman's voice. Not Emily's. It’s much higher and reminds me of an elf. I turn to see an old friend rushing toward me at a brisk pace for someone in heels. She's leggy, like a gazelle, and in the time I take to turn back and pretend I don’t hear her, the sound of her heels rings right behind me. Too late.
“It is you! Hi!” she says. She gives me a sloppy hug and kiss, alcohol heavy on her breath.
“Hello. Adeline,” I say, keeping my response clipped.
“Garrett said you might come tonight.” She says this as if I'm not here every weekend. She can tell I’m distracted and becomes more clingy, hanging off my arm like a proverbial ball and chain.
“Adeline, listen. I'm here with a friend, and I really have to go find her.”
She recoils as if she's been hit. She shakes herself off my arm, disappointment printed across her face.
* * *
Emily
David isoff doing his thing, and I find myself alone. I guess I'm not surprised. He wasn't kidding when he said he was the blood in the veins of these parties. I sip my drink, watching others chug theirs as if it were last call. Garrett finds me. I look beyond him, assuming David will be following right behind. He isn't.
“Hey, where's David?” I ask, leaning into him so he can hear me over the music.
“David? He was talking to Adeline somewhere back there last I checked!” he yells back too loudly, as if my ear wasn't right by his mouth. He touches my arm and places my drink down on the table between us. “He didn’t tell me you were so pretty!” he yells into the air between us.
My cheeks flush, and I mouth a genuine thank you in return.
Garrett has a very boyish appearance. He hardly looks eighteen. If he’s the same Garrett I’ve heard David mention, he should be closer to twenty-five. His eyes are a dark brown, almost the same shade as his hair. You can’t see where his pupils begin and end in this lighting. He's tan, possibly mixed.
I look around the dim living room. Skylight windows cover the ceiling, with a moon beckoning me outside. I ignore its call. The music is loud, and the bass is nearly intolerable. It vibrates within my head and makes my teeth chatter. The strobe lights dance wildly around me. The colors change each rotation. The green is disorienting. There’s a wave of people around me. I am in a sea of facelessness, too dark to distinguish features unless I am close enough to touch them. The air is thick with the almost nauseating smell of alcohol, sweat, and pheromones. There’s so much sexual tension in the room that I can feel the heat between everyone’s legs. My overloaded senses make me anxious and annoyed.
“I don't know anyone here. Where is David?” I whine out loud.
“Well, I'm Garrett, so now you know me. Don't worry, he's probably just sucking face with Adeline. He'll be back!”
He is so goddamn loud, and I'm getting pissed off. I mean, genuinely angry. I’m tempted to leave and catch a taxi home. I check my clutch. I have about five bucks to my name right now. Not nearly enough for the fare.
“I know! Why don't I show you around the house while we wait? I'm sure we’ll find him along the way. This house is only so big.” He gestures upstairs.
I lift my drink and finish it in one gulp. I shake my head at Garrett, but it's futile. He's as incessant as a mosquito once it locks on to the intoxicating scent of blood. He wraps an arm around my waist, pulls me close to him, and kisses me. His lips are thin and slightly dry.
I feel fuzzy and light. For a moment I kiss him back, thrown off by this unsolicited attention—something I’m not accustomed to. I pull away, fake a smile, and look for a distraction. I clutch my purse to my chest and keep my hands between Garrett and my face. My body language could not be more guarded. He notices, and his lip curls for a moment, as if he is as unaccustomed to rejection as I am to affection.
He leads me towards the stairs like leading cattle to slaughter. His hand is firm on my lower back. I follow him, and I feel myself becoming less and less inhibited by the minute. He shows me to his bedroom, which is locked from the outside and has a sign across it that says No Guests Allowed. His sanctuary, I guess.
I sit on the edge of the bed, legs wobbling like a newborn deer. I rub my temples. My head aches. God, I hate alcohol. I try to focus as Garrett shows me his collection of old records.
“Do you want a bump?” he asks, stepping aside to expose a thick line of white powder on his dresser.
“No thank you.”
“Suit yourself,” he whispers as he leans down and inhales, dragging his nose down the line. “Wow, that’s good!” He wipes his nose with his hand and shakes his head almost comically.
I'm starting to feel like I’m made of lead instead of blood and tissue. I lie back and close my eyes as the blood rushes in my ears. I hardly feel Garrett crawling between my legs. I try to push him away, but my arms don’t obey. He kisses me with his parched, skinny lips, leaving trails of drool as he continues down my neck and chest. He pulls my dress straps down and buries his face in my cleavage. He's saying something, but I can't make out his words over my racing heartbeat. My panties land by my head, and I close my eyes, giving up and giving in to what is happening.
* * *