Pyromaniac

Chapter 4: Party Pooped

            Even though the cold, sticky booze was trickling down her back and submerging itself into her hair, even though the stench was almost unbearable, everything seemed slightly surreal. The abhorrence in Stephen’s gaze, the drop of alcohol brimming the bottle, the dead silence in the room. Everything seemed like a movie.

            So she laughed.

            She laughed, and it was so ridiculous that Stephen had to suppress the desire to smash the bottle right on her head.

            “Is that it?” were the words she strung together.

            Stephen gave her a skeptical glance, unsure if she was a bomb about to explode or if she was just a fluke.

            “That’s it? That’s all you can do. Just pour something on me. I guess it is, now that you don’t have your money amore!” Her voice rose to a hysterical yell. Every pair of eyes were attached to her, wondering if she had gone insane. She could have quieted at that point, but Estella persisted.

            “Stephen Bullard, why did you even come here?” she seethed, lowering the volume of her voice. “You’re no better than trash without your money.”

            That did it. He charged at her like a bull—so she was a girl. To hell with that! This woman was going to get it—

            Across the room, Drew nudged Mona and spoke in a low hiss. “You get Estella. I’ll get Stephen.”

            “Sexist. I can handle Stephen just fine,” Mona murmured, but there wasn’t much pique in her tone.

            “Whatever; just run for it,” Drew muttered.

            “Roger.”

            And so, they ran for it.

            Mona tackled Stephen like a professional football player; no less impressive than expected from the black belt that she was. She bent back his beefy arms and bound them together. “Easy, killer,” she teased in a playful tone that was the last thing from appropriate in this situation.

            Drew soared and swooped down, scooping Estella up with him as he raced out of there and up the stairs.

            “Hands off—what the hell?! Hands off, asshole!” Estella yelped indignantly when they reached the second floor. She slapped his hands away as soon as he loosened his grip. Slightly shaken, she adjusted and examined Drew with new eyes as she regained her composure. “Are you crazy? What was that for?”

            “Just Superman swooping in to save the day,” Drew replied with an uncanny easygoing demeanor. He popped his nonexistent collar. “No need to thank me.”

            “No one was going to thank you,” she muttered under her breath, but Drew either didn’t catch it or he just pretended he didn’t hear. She cleared her throat, and carried on a bit louder: “Anyway, I should get going.”

            At an attempt to fix her disheveled appearance, she finger-combed her matted hair and straightened her shirt. And then her face fell when she saw Drew smirk. Before he could mock her, she positioned her mouth ready to hurl something mean at him. But he interrupted her before anything could get out.

            “Sure, as long as you have your car.”

            Estella paused and searched his features more closely, wondering if she had imagined the smirk. Now, there was nothing on his face but a clean palette of innocence.

            “Do you?” Drew asked, emphasizing his question.

            At that point, Estella realized sheepishly, no, she didn’t have her car. She came to the party via Blair’s car with Savannah and some other nameless girls.

            “I can walk,” she proffered, making a face which she hoped look convincing.

            “Can you, now?” Drew asked, and the doubt in his voice knew her convinced face was just not convincing enough. “I’ll drive you home.”

            Estella wasn’t an idiot—she wasn’t going to find another ride other than this. But wouldn’t she seem too easy if she smiled cheerfully and hopped right into his car? It wasn’t like she suspected him of ill intentions, but Drew was someone Estella didn’t want to get tangled up with too much, the reason being that he reminded her of her brother. Maybe it was only nominal, but maybe Estella wasn’t willing to admit that Drew was charming, and—damn it all—cute.

            “I’m not going to rape you in the backseat,” Drew asserted defensively after Estella seemed hesitant.

            Suddenly, her brain dissolved this whole situation and moved on to another. Her eyes darted to Drew quizzically. “You’re not going to say anything about what just happened?”

            “About what?”

            “What just happened down there,” Estella clarified.

            A curtain of comprehension drew across his face. And then he looked at her with those big, innocent eyes. “What, you want to talk about it?”

            She blinked, the question catching her off guard. “Don’t answer with a question,” she finally managed.

            “All I have to say is,” Drew began, leaning towards the wall, “if you drink, you’ll forget.”

            Estella’s eyes flickered to him. “What?” Even though she had heard him, loud and clear.

            “I said if you drink—”

            “Let’s drink, then.”

            Drew’s eyes bolted to Estella’s in utter surprise.

            It was that quick. Most life decisions were made like that, within one impulsive second. It was either do or don’t. Risk or not risk. Live or die. Drink or don’t. And Estella decided that she had completed what she came here to do. Her job was over. All there was left to do was drink the night away. And why not do it with a boy who reminded her of the very brother she murdered?

            Tonight, she would gather all her memories in one place. Every single memory that tormented her. She would face it all tonight with a bottle of beer.

            And then she would burn them all.