Seventh. Ah, seventh. This one ended with me bumping into Jessica, clad in my leather jacket, hair down, and makeup on. She didn't seem to piece together who I was—or maybe I'd just been too drunk to notice—but she did think I looked ridiculous and shoved me back into somebody's drink.
Now drunk off my ass, barely able to walk, and reeking of spilt beer and vomit, my eighth chain reaction ended with my overly sensitive emotions seeing Ryder and Selena joking around and paying no mind to everybody else around them. It wasn't until later that I processed Cyrus staring longingly at the dark haired beauty and conjured up one of my brilliant ideas.
After all of it—my sadness at seeing Ryder so happy with Selena and confusion for caring, neglectfulness at being abandoned by all of my friends, anger at being judged by my enemies even when I looked myself—I couldn't take it anymore. So, what did I do?
I left. With a beer.
It was my last beer of the night, and I'd just grabbed it quickly before walking out the door. So quickly, in fact, that even though I'd heard it, I still didn't fully process Ryder's concerned voice calling out my name before the door slammed shut behind me. And instead of turning around and going back inside the house like I should have, I kept walking and walking to some unknown destination, guided simply by the street lights overhead.
I tipped my can up and huffed in disappointment when I realized it was empty but for a few drops. Turning it upside down and shaking to confirm it's lack of alcohol, I approached the ninth chain reaction of the night.
I bumped into somebody.
"Watch where you're fucking going," I snapped, standing up from my place on the cold concrete. I stumbled a little on my way up, but managed to stand, nonetheless.
My head shot up at the horrifyingly familiar accent, then focused in as well as my drunken vision could on those obsidian eyes. "You."
"Me?" he asked, staring in confusion. He took a cautious step back. "Do I know you?"
"Yeah, y'a prick—" I cut myself off and winced as I remembered that not only was I way too drunk to function, but I was also in my weekend attire. Many things could go wrong if he recognized me, be it from school or from the rave party. "I mean, no . . . you don't?"
He leaned closer to get a better look at me, to which I purposely hid behind my hair. "Bloody hell, you're that chick who does all the illegal shit around here."
"No 'm not!" I shouted stubbornly. I tried to take a step back, but stumbled instead.
"Shit," was the quick response as his arm shot out around my waist to catch me. He tugged me close as he brought me up, and I shifted uncomfortably at the heat radiating off of his body. He was practically a walking oven. "Are you drunk?"
"No," I denied, shoving at his shoulders a lot weaker than I would have preferred. Either way, it got the job done, and he let go of me after steadying me where I stood.
"Wait," he said, squinting suspiciously in my direction. "I've met you before." His eyes widened as he placed where it had come from, and my stomach churned again with a sick feeling. "You were at the rave, weren't you? You were that girl who tried to pick a fight with me outside."
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The Four of Us | Major EditingTeen Fiction
Highest ranking in Teen Fiction #78 • His hot breath touched the dip of my shoulder, and I found myself tilting my head away slightly to give his lips more access as they barely grazed my neck. It was like the touch of a hair, quick and barely notic...