High

Chapter Five-Denial

Denial.

We all partake in the devious and socially shunned act of denial. When we have feelings for someone, we actively deny it. When we screw up and have to take responsibility for our actions, we deny it.

When it's time for us to face the reality of our rather seemingly unpleasant situations, we straight up deny it.

I mean, it's true what they say. Ignorance certainly is bliss

And right now, in this very moment, I was sure that Maxwell - wherever and whoever he was with - had a major hangover.

Based on my calculations, I am absolutely certain that, based on the amount of liquor Maxwell consumed, he wouldn't be able to remember a single thing.

He won't remember our little disagreement, and better yet, he won't even remember that I was there.

Which meant ultimately that I could go back living my life without him just like I had been doing for the past three years.

Even though I didn't want to admit it. The thought of going back to my normal mundane life, without having Maxwell by side. To constantly having to avoid him - talking, thinking, or avoiding tabloids and TED talks in which he's stared in - was exhausting.

And a part of me fed into my delusion l
that I could forget 17 long years' worth of friendship, memories, laughter, tears, and vulnerable moments with him. In doing so, I denied myself the freedom to actually process all my emotions- anger, hurt, resentment, confusion, sadness, and instability.

I inhaled sharply as I stuffed my laptop into my bag, ready to make trek my way to class.

You can do this, Ellie. You've done it before, and you can do it again.

I checked my phone once more in the mere hopes that Zoe would return at least one of my calls. I mean, it's 12:15 in the morning.

How blackout drunk could she have possibly gotten?

I sighed and put my phone back grimly in my pocket, causing the thoughts regarding my wild yet somewhat studious friend to mount.

No news is good news, right?

Right.

Once I opened the door in came my friend. My heavily hungover friend with some other guy holding her up by her right shoulder as she rested her entire body weight on him.

I blinked, taking in the sight of my friend. Smudged mascara, stained lips, a tiny bit of what I assume to be is vomit on the corner of her mouth, and a questionable oder emitting from her.

I grimaced at the sight and the smell. This was the first time I had ever seen my friend like this, and if this is her version of being blackout drunk, I'd prefer if she would leave me out of it.

My eyes drifted towards the guy that Zoe was currently slumped against on ready to apologize for whatever my friend may or may not have done until I actually got a good look of him.

In front of me, holding onto my friend was Christopher Hemings. Maxwell's other best friend and the only one who knows about Maxwell's and I's agreement.

"Elliot," Christopher greeted me breathlessly as his grey eyes shifted from me to Zoe, "Do you mind helping me with your friend?"

I froze and gaped at him and continued to do so until he suggested, "Could we speed this along before your friend pukes on my shirt again?"

***
I put the towel underneath the tap and proceeded to wring it of its extra contents.

I walked towards Christopher on the couch while Zoe was snoring in the next room. I moved closer to him and felt his intense grey eyes watch me as I tried to dab the orange looking puke from his white shirt.