pounding music matches the throbbing in my temples. my skin feels sticky in the sweaty atmosphere that surrounds me.
stray limbs graze my body as i try to make my way to the end of the room—they grab and pull at my clothing, drunkenly hissing for me to join them.
"troye!" a pair of perfectly manicured hands grab my shoulders, pulling me into a sea of intoxicated people. the touch startles me, but it's only dua.
"are you drunk yet?" she asks me cheekily, keeping a firm grip on my shoulders.
"i'm getting there."
she's unconvinced by my response. her eyes settle on a spot behind me, and she stands on her toes trying to get a better look over the crowd.
without looking to me dua releases my shoulders. "stay right here." she's gone before i can object.
i'm trying to recall the chain of events that led to this—i'm 17. dua is a friend i work with. she's 22. she had talked me into going to a typical los angeles party.
the scenario was cliché.
dua's intention to loosen me up settles to the front of my mind. a ways ahead is a table scattered with booze, and i'm stepping over empty bottles of tequila just trying to get to it.
i scan the table for something familiar, eventually opting for whatever bottle is closest. mixing it with cola will ease the burn.
i force a gulp down my throat, suppressing a choke.
✞
voldka. i think i had slightly miscalculated my plan, because half an hour later i'm twirling, slurring lyrics to a blaring song. the room is spinning with me.
i frown at my empty cup. i'm not sure how many drinks i've gone through, but it was more than enough to get me tipsy. a pout still sits on my lips—i wonder where dua ran off too.
giggling at myself, i stumble back to the booze and claim an already opened can of soda. i don't think i could handle anymore alcohol.
i faintly hum the harmony to whatever song is playing when i return to the crowd. there's an "L" shaped couch at the center of what looks to be a living room—a few people are settled on the sofa, talking. a couple making out. one guy is passed out. i plop down on the cushion, lazily.
in front of me there's a boy dancing with a few of his friends. my drunken vision drinks in his sight—this boy is really pretty. his dark hair bounces as he maneuvers around his giggling friends.
he must've felt my stare because our eyes meet. my smile widens. i know i look absolutely wasted, but i'm too drunk to care. i watch as he says something in his friend's ear, to which she looks at me. she jokingly swats his arm with a limp hand, but he's already walking in my direction.
