Bad Enough for You (Currently Editing)

I'm Not Touching Your Boobs

By the time we reached the party, it was in full swing. Teenagers of a multitude of classes were inside the house, cups full of amber liquid sloshing as they seemed to sway out of time with the pounding base. I didn’t recognize a single face, but thanks to Ci, I had easily been reassured that there was no way I was going to see anyone I knew.

Milo shuffled along behind me, trying to keep people from looking at him until I reached back and lifted his chin up with my finger. I looked him dead in the eye and pursed my lips, hoping he got the message that he had to act like he didn’t care if he was seen. Taking his fingers in mine, I turned back around and navigated us to the keg. Pouring us two glasses of lukewarm beer, we stood off to the side, me sipping at the foul-tasting liquid and surveying the people.

I watched as drunk girls stumbled over, raising their hands as they giggled into them, looking past me and at Milo. He looked sick to his stomach, glancing around as if he couldn’t honestly wait to be anywhere else. Aiming an elbow into his ribcage, I heard him grunt and then felt his glare. Shrugging my shoulders slightly, I gulped down my beer, trying to avoid allowing it to linger on my tongue for very long.

We picked our way through the ground apartment, slowly moving along the bodies that were pressed up against the wall, their mouths not always connected and their hands not always in view. With gasps of pleasure coming from those pressed against the wall and on the stairway, I knew that the sexually charged atmosphere would not suit well for what we needed to do.

Milo and I made our way to the living room where the couches had been shoved to the side, people filling their empty spots on the hardwood floor. The music was louder than ever before, streaming from a set of Bose speakers that were hanging on the walls. It took a moment for my ears to adjust to the change in volume and the pounding in my head to cease.

A group of people, boys and girls alike, were in the middle of the room with their bodies pressed against one another. Arms collided in the air, the smiles of ecstasy-ridden moments visible on their faces. It was basically a pit of people, stretching on until they touched the far wall. My eyes moved from those to the sprinkling of people alongside the wall. They were surveying those dancing quietly, two girls on their cellphones and popping pink bubblegum.

Perfect.

Turning around, I looked up at Milo. Slipping my hand into his, I squeezed and beckoned him into a quieter room. Finding ourselves in a bathroom, I shut and locked the door behind me.

When I turned back from the door, Milo was bent over at the waist above the toilet, staring into the clear water that filled it. He ran his hands through his hair before looking up at me, worry written all over his face.

“I don’t think I can do this, Adrienne.” He muttered, aiming an angry foot at the bottom of the toilet. It shook in its frame and I looked at my friend, watched how he quickly became angry, finally letting loose all he held back inside. “I’m kind of over the talk show to be honest. I want to do other things. And I want to have Ci there with me. You know, your mom doesn’t know everything we’ve been through. She has no idea how hard all of this has been, how she’s basically ruining our lives. Who cares about the fucking show? Maybe it deserves the ratings it has. Why are we being punished for something we didn’t do?”

I realized as Milo was talking that he was in the midst of a panic attack. He suddenly sat down on the edge of the tub as if he had lost his balance and with his head in his hands, I watched as he crumbled. Letting my hand fall from the doorknob, I walked the few steps over the tile and knelt down beside him. I rested one hand on his knee, slowly rubbing a hand over his back as he continued to shake.

As I watched someone who could keep his composure in front of thousands of people and on live TV breaking down, I felt my heart break. Milo didn’t deserve to be taking panic attacks in a stranger’s bathroom and I knew without a doubt that Ci was curled up in her bed, chewing on her fingernails and worrying about what we were doing. They didn’t deserve to have to sneak around, to give up something that kept them going.