Last Days

2

He's wearing one of those long sleeved shirts that has a few useless buttons at the top, opened just enough to reveal the peaks of his muscular pecks. He's smiling, talking to a few random, unimportant people.
And my God, he looks more gorgeous than ever.

The moment I see him, my heart starts beating a mile a minute. Clearly, Laura has noticed him, as she is now pulling me towards him excitedly. He notices us, and politely excuses himself from his friends.
"Laura," he says, looking at her from head to toe, and hugging her at the hip. "You look like a goddamn snack!" She laughs, kisses him on the cheek. What I would give to have her courage.
"Right back at you, K." 
Kota turns to me, cocks his head. I know at that instant that he doesn't recognize me, which strangely hurts more than I thought it would.
"Taylor," I say. "Taylor Brooks. You probably don't remember me."
He smiles at me, and before I know it, he's giving me the same, sideways hug. I feel like I'm about to pass out, and before I can react, he grabs my face and gives me a kiss on each cheek.
I can smell the alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't bother me.
"Well Taylor Brooks, I do not remember you, but I'm very glad to meet you."
And he's off, skipping towards the snack table. I touch my cheeks, numb from what just happened.
"Ohmygod, Tay, stop freaking out."
I turn to her, giddy.
"How can I not freak out? Kota just kissed me." She pinches my face.
"Kissed you on the cheek. But the night is still young, my friend."

We walk to a table of alcohol, and I grab myself a beer. I don't feel like getting completely wasted, but a little buzz wont hurt.
It tastes bitter and hard, and I haven't had beer in a while, but I like it.
That beer leads to four more.

I find that I like parties, maybe because they are new to me, or maybe just because I've been dying for a chance to get out of my house. See, I've gotten in a rut lately. I'm in a constant loop of work, and working out, and sleep. That's essentially all I do. No boys (or girls,) no dates, no sex. There's something nice about slipping out, doing something out of the ordinary.
A song is pulsing, pulling the group of us up and down, rippling the hardwood floors like a rug being tugged from under us. It's nauseating, wonderful, crazy. Laura's at my side and we're tossing our arms in the air, bumping in to eachother.
And all the sudden, I realize that I'm about to throw up, and I really don't want to do it in the middle of this group of people I don't really like.

After pushing through the wall of dancers and twerking girls, I make a run for the bathroom. I rip the lace shirt off, sweating like I'm on fire, leaving me sort of bare in a tight-fitting tank top.
To my complete and total outrage, the bathroom door is locked.
"Let me in, I have to throw up!" I tell, pounding on the door. A moment later, the door unlocks, opens, and a stranger pulls me in before shutting it behind me.
I'm about to scream when I realize who it is.
It's Dakota. He's leaning against the sink, holding a clear mask over his face. Its connected to a buzzing machine, and vapors billow through the mask and into his nose and mouth.
He gestures to the toilet.
"Go ahead and throw up."

I'm stricken- I don't know if I even need to anymore- and I'm also incredibly confused as to what he's doing. But before I can decide what to do, instinct takes over, and I'm gripping the toilet bowl, retching and hoping to God that he isn't looking. When I'm done, I flush, wipe my mouth, and collapse against the tub.
He laughs behind his mask, and, feeling mocked for something I couldn't control, I decide to bite back.
"What the hell are you doing?"
He holds one finger up as if to say wait, and continues to breath in the vapor for a minute or two more. After what feels like forever, he flips a switch on the machine and the vapor stops.
He takes his mask off, looks down at his knees.
"Helps me breathe," he says, not clarifying anything.
"Is it like, a bong?"
He stares at me, deadpan, for several moments.
"Does this seriously look like a bong to you?"
I look at the contraption.
"I don't know, I've never seen one."
He laughs again. It's a sweet laugh, but there's something behind it. Hesitation.
"It's a nebulizer."

He starts coughing- hard. Like, smoking grandfather with tuberculosis hard. It takes him only a moment to get it under control. He looks up, holds up the mask.
"For that," he says.
"It helps with that."

I don't want to bother him about this anymore. It seems like a hard subject for him, so I drop it.
"I'm sorry I threw up," I say, and he smiles. "It's fine," he retorts. "I'm used to it."
Whatever that means.
"Also, you can do something to make us even," he says, ultra cocky. I bite my tongue. Even for what? Me getting sick?
"I need a favor." He stands up, but it takes him a great deal of strength to do so. I realize how drunk he must be.

Oh my God, I think. He's going to kiss me. But just as soon as the thought crosses my mind, he's offering me a hand and opening the bathroom door. "I need a ride home."