sehnsucht ✓

chapter 6

I feel something rising up my throat from the tension I felt being here as we arrive at the party. The house was huge. To the point that it'd be insulting, an understatement to even call it a house. Really, the party took place at a mansion. It was in a part of town with a really high yearly income, filled with privileged families coming from old money backgrounds.

The owner of the house, who initiated the last minute event, was Earl Cumberland. So much snotty privileged could be extracted from his name, which was so apparent and reeked of the class he was born into.

Not just rich, but filthy fucking rich.

Ingrid points to a certain tall boy standing in the crowd with Derek and the rest of his friends, one who I find myself more and more familiarized these days.

It hadn't even been that long. I gag at the fact that I feel like my crush towards him, which began a few weeks ago, and had started off slow, evolved into something unsuspecting, and eventually at a rate that felt so fast, I couldn't hold my breath without missing a moment.

I mean, for the most part, I only had one negative experience with a boy. But we do not bring up Vincent. He can rot in a tub of acid for all I care.

"Is he like, what, six foot one? He's the perfect height for you. Heels would bring you to the perfect height," Ingrid speaks, trying to lighten the mood I was in, post bad grade realization. And Elle.

Oh, Elle. Your presence is unneeded and made things unnecessarily complicated, but I feel that I can't easily leave this situation anymore.

After all, the end of the semester was nowhere to be found, and Mark would probably not let me ghost, if I ever decided to go through with that plan. To simply say,

"Adios,"

and never speak another word to him.

What am I saying, though? It'd be unbelievable, especially in my current emotional state, to consider dropping him. I've had dreams of Mark in the past week that haunted me. I was not done with him and it pained to think about our blooming friendship to take a step back.

I know I'm supposed to say and find out for myself that I don't need boys in my life. I'm supposed to have this self-realization, according to a particular genre of movies that I have to build my own character.

Sound familiar? But as I'm reiterated then and again, I'm completely fine with it. I'm not contributing to a misogynistic culture at all. That is not the plan, I say. It's not a ploy, there is no underlying motive.

So I repeat that I want a boy. I crave a boy.

I have to reflect on this every now and then so I know that I'm not losing my mind.

"Snap out of it, babe," Ingrid places her cold palm on my cheek, and I shiver.

"Right," chortling, I walk over as Ingrid begins to participate in a game of beer pong. The kind that people like to play on repeat, on their phones. Over text messages.

Just this was the variation of the game in real life. When I say variation, I mean that loosely. It may have been the original version of the game, but is becoming increasingly less of the pop culture staple it once was.

However, it still holds a niche as part of dumb high school parties like this one.

What I really felt is that I came here as a favour for my friends, as selfish as that sounds.

Ingrid lands the ping pong ball in the cup on her first try effortlessly, cheering.

I sigh and move to take an empty seat on the stairs, resting my chin on my hand, my elbow pressing against the wall for support.