CHAPTER ONE
THE WILD, HEAVYthumping of the music enveloped me as I became lost in a sea of bodies, grinding and twisting to the beat of the music in a flurry of tangled limbs and laughter. The hypnotic flash of the rainbow of lights flitted over my closed eyelids. Between the adrenaline of a much-needed night out, the giddiness from my alcohol-induced buzz, and the high-energy crowd, I felt unstoppable.
My vision was blurred when I opened my eyes, the colors and motions of everything around me running together, but I could see Angie and Leah not far from me dancing in the midst of the other sorority girls. I caught Angie’s eye and pointed towards the bar, signaling that I was going to get another drink. She gave me a thumbs up as a handsome man in a polo shirt approached her, swaying to the music. I shook my head, laughing, and returned her thumbs-up with a grin, then forced my way through the throng of people to the bar, somewhat unsteady on my feet.
I found an empty seat at the bar and sat down. I didn’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to wear heels tonight. My feet were killing me, and my clumsiness was only made worse from being half-drunk. We had started drinking and dancing the moment we got here almost two hours ago. I hadn’t partied like this in a long time, and I hadn’t planned on doing it tonight, either. School and work were consuming my life, as usual, and I normally preferred to suffer in the silence and comfort of my own apartment. And while most of the time I preferred things that way, sometimes the loneliness crept in and grabbed me without warning, making me wonder what I was actually doing with my life. It was my last year of college; I should have been out partying every weekend, making more friends, and having regrettable one-night stands.
Still, I was actually having a lot of fun so far tonight, at least doing some of those typical college things to temporarily forget my stress. Leah, my roommate, and her best friend Angie had begged me all week to come out tonight, telling me that I worked too hard and needed to let loose, and I begrudgingly obliged. But ultimately, I was glad they had dragged me out of the house and away from the endless pile of work I had to do. I had worried that I would feel like a third wheel amongst them and their close-knit friend group, and I told them as much, but they had promised that I would fit right in and that we would all spend the night together having fun. After spending so long neglecting my social life, I had been terrified that I would end up awkwardly hanging at the edge of the crowd, watching but not participating, just like in high school. And so far, to my delight, everything had gone as well as it possibly could. We had been dancing, singing, and giggling all through the night.
The bar wasn’t very upscale, but the college students came here to pre-game every weekend before they went to the more popular, modern bars later on in the night. Drinks were cheap, there was a small dance floor (that always seemed somewhat sticky, even when it was clean), and the food was fantastically greasy and delicious. I actually liked this place better than the nicer bars down the street. It reminded me of the small-town dive bars back in my home town with the sports memorabilia and outdated decor.
Not that I missed home much, though. I wasn’t even really sure what home was to me. Most people think of “home” as the houses they grew up in, but my house had always felt cold and impersonal, like living in a hotel. Other people think not of the house itself, but the people they shared it with, their families, as “home.” That didn’t fit for me either; My parents were always just as cold and impersonal as the house was, treating me as more of an unwanted pet than their own flesh and blood. I was more than glad to cut myself off from them the moment I turned 18. Cutting them out of my life was the best thing I had ever done for myself, and I hadn’t heard from them since. They were probably just as happy to get rid of me as I was them.
And soon, I would be starting a whole new life over in California, thousands of miles from here. I had just accepted the job this past week that my favorite professor had referred me for. Apparently he knew an important higher-up of the company, and when I’d mentioned to him that I wanted to move to California, he put in a good word for me. I’d be marketing for a mid-sized retail business making decent money, and I was already anticipating the move that would happen in May, only a few short months from now.
“What can I get ya?” the bartender asked, stirring me from my thoughts.
“I’ll have a Sprite and vodka.” My friends back in my hometown always used to make fun of me for ordering the same drink every time I went out, but it tasted delicious and got me drunk, so joke’s on them. I always had my fun either way.
I watched as the bartender’s nimble hands grabbed the bottle off the shelf and poured my drink, then thanked him and handed him some cash. “Keep the change,” I quipped.
I glanced back over to Angie and Leah, still swaying drunkenly to the music. They laughed and twirled their hair as the polo-clad frat boys continued their attempts to grind on them. And while the girls were fun to party with, I wouldn’t necessarily consider them great friends of mine. I saw Leah in passing around the apartment on weekdays and hung out with her and Angie on the very rare weekends when I wanted to go out. I had met Leah on a Facebook page where you could post to find roommates off-campus, and she had seemed decent enough. A little temperamental and dramatic, but overall fine. We had moved in together at the beginning of the school year, but we each had our own lives: She went to frat parties and made friends everywhere she went, stumbling home at odd hours and managing to make it to her classes just enough to pass. I stayed home, studying and working, and being productive enough with those two things that I could ignore everything else in my life. That was the way I liked it: uncomplicated.
Luckily, Leah was just as respectful of my time and space as I was of hers, so our contrary lifestyles never caused much of an issue.
I had only met Angie a handful of times, but she seemed nice. She had certainly welcomed me with open arms tonight when they had convinced me to come out for some drinks.
I leaned my back against the bar, deciding I still needed some time away from the dance floor. I was getting sweaty, and the increasing number of men in polo shirts and khakis was somewhat alarming. Not that I had a problem with them individually. I had just met too many guys from the local fraternities who dressed that way and made a game out of getting laid by any means possible. I knew I shouldn’t label them all the same way just by how they were dressed, but I could still be wary. In fact, everyone was probably looking at me right now in my tight, short, low-cut dress and assuming I was just like the sorority girls I had come with. Again, not that there was anything wrong with them; I just wasn’t one of them. In fact, I secretly wished I was one of those girls who could so easily join and get along with other groups of women. Instead, I was perpetually awkward and introverted, and I envied the way they all fit so easily together, picturesque and Barbie Doll perfect.
As I watched Angie and Leah dance and giggle and drink, I noticed how complementary they were to each other and felt a pang of envy—Leah’s straight, golden hair and lightly tanned skin against Angie’s dark complexion and curly black hair; Leah’s curves next to Angie’s pixie-like stature. They were both so beautiful, working together in harmony as they swayed to the music. It seemed like all eyes were on them. And here I was, a boring, medium middle. Average sized, brown hair, not ugly but not gorgeous. Painfully normal.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
The man leaned next to me on the edge of the bar, propped up on his elbows. He flashed a crooked smile as I turned to him and held up my drink to show him that it was still mostly full. “I’m good for now. Thanks, though.” I figured I should probably stop drinking soon if I wanted to get home in one piece, anyway.
The problem was, I thought that same thing every single time I drank, and I rarely ended up following my better judgment. Maybe my coping mechanisms were a little fucked up, but drinking seemed to lighten the heavy load that was always on my shoulders, whisking away my anxiety until it crashed down again the next morning. I needed any reprieve that I could get right now, though, even if it was fleeting.
“How about a shot, then?” He flashed a charming grin.
He had to be a student at the local college. His chestnut-brown hair framed his face in shaggy layers, and freckles dotted his cheeks above a sweet, lopsided smile. He looked close to my age, early- to mid-twenties, and was wearing jeans, Vans, and a Journey T-shirt.