Blues

24. Blue On Blue

"Blue on blue,
heartache on heartache.."
Blue on blue by Bobby Vinton.

My hand gives way, and the liquor glass plummets down without any crashing noise, due to the stentorian music and the carpeted floor. Dylan's face whips to look at me, his eyebrows knitting. "You okay?" He questions, touching my shoulder, his voice laced with concern.

I give Ethan my whole attention, virtually feeling the sanity deserting my head. Was the drink drugged? Because there's only one more explanation available for me to cogitate, and it includes me maledicting Dylan and everything about him.

"It's your birthday!" Ethan states in wonder, rubbing his forehead, as if it would change the state of insouciance he has always harbored for my existence. "I totally forgot about it."

Dylan looks at him with a bewildered expression. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that-me and her-we go long way back." He demystifies, pouring himself a glass of vodka, while I stand indurated like a stone in my place, utterly dumbstruck. "To be precise here, we used to date back, in Tacoma." He shrugs, taking a sip of his drink.

Dylan's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "And why didn't you tell me that the other night?" He asks, his voice bearing a fusion of confusion and coldness.

"You think that day was a good time to say such a thing? She was stoned and you were panicking all over the place."

I emanate a chortle that doesn't parallel how I truly feel, before I take a deep breath. "I'll go to the restroom." I breathe, staggering toward the exit of the kitchen.

"Wait!" Dylan calls, but I don't stop. The last thing I hear before I step out of the asphyxiating place, is Dylan's placid voice telling him something that I fail to catch.

I make my way upstairs to find the restroom. "Candice, wait." He calls, but I ignore him altogether, in quest for the restroom, where I can immure myself, and sort out my jumbled thoughts. However, when I finally locate it, I don't get to step a foot into it, before I'm halted by a firm hand around my elbow. "Wait." He wheezes, and I spin to face him with my disarrayed emotions transcribed all over my red face. I don't even elucidate what I feel. Is it hurt? Is it shock? Is it anger?

Betrayal?

"What kind of game are you playing, Evans?" I seethe, having a hell-bent desire to wreak havoc.

He frowns, looking dumbfounded. "What do you mean?"

I pull my arm free from his hold. "You're friends!"

"Your intellectual abilities are shocking. Did you perceive that on your own?"

"This is not the right time for joking!" I huff, stomping my foot. "Pardon me, but isn't it an inconceivable coincidence? You being friends with the very guy I used to date back in Tacoma?"

"Why don't we skip the silly implications?" He crosses his arms.

"I think there's a game going on, and I'm the one who's being played." I proclaim, my voice arctic.

His stance rigidifies, and I can almost feel the air around us frosting, with the promise of a cold-hearted hassle. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Candice?" He asks, grabbing my elbow once more, his eyes filled with polar storms. "He's my father's business partner, that's how I know him! And what's wrong with seeing your ex? Did he steal your kidney or something?"