I knew agreeing to this was a bad idea the second I said yes.
I know my friends are only trying to make me feel better, which is why I agreed in the first place. This is the sort of thing you do after a break up, right? You let your friends drag you out of bed, let them make you look presentable, you don't put up a fight when they take you to a party, and you listen when they say have fun, okay?
I don't want to have fun. I want to curl up in my bed–which is where I've been living the last week–with my phone in hand, hoping and hoping that Devon will call even though I know she won't. But what do I have to lose, right? Devon is gone and Devon is not coming back. At least, not for me.
So I make myself pretty. And I go to the party. And I listen to my friends.
Mason tugs me along as we wander through some stranger's house, making sure not to lose sight of me. Bianca stands at my other side, shooting me glances of pity whenever she thinks I'm not looking. I'm getting used to all of my friends treating me like I'm made of porcelain–like I'll break if they're not careful enough with me.
Loud music blares. Unknown smoke wafts in the air. I'm surrounded by strangers. The smell of booze burns my nostrils. I don't know how my friends thought this was supposed to make me feel any better, but I force a smile and nod when they ask if I'm having fun anyway. After all, it's the thought that counts, right?
On the inside, I'm falling apart. Devon and I started dating because of a party just like this one. I can't escape her, she's everywhere around me. There we are on the couch, a tangle of intertwined limbs and frenzied kisses. She's by the cup pong table, playing with our friends back when I knew nothing about what we would become. She's standing in the corner, watching me from afar with a knowing smile.
Except she's not here at all, and I don't know what hurts worse. Delusion or reality.
I know I should refuse when Bianca offers me a shot, but part of me longs to have an excuse to be as out of my mind as I feel. So I accept the offer. Then another. And another. I drink until my vision and feet are as unstable as my mind. Then I drink some more.
The alcohol coursing through my veins almost makes the night fun. The smiles come easier, the laughter less forced. My limbs are jelly as I dance with Mason and Bianca, our bodies pressed together as we swim through the crowd. I don't think about Devon, but not thinking about Devon seems to make me think of her more, so I tell myself that Devon is gone. Gone gone gone. She didn't run after me and she's not going to so I need to stop running, I need to stop looking over my shoulder hoping she'll be following after me. There she is on the couch. There she is in the corner. There she is by the bar. She's not here. She's not here.
But she is.
I don't know how I'm able to recognize her, not in this state of mind. But I do. Maybe because I can never forget. Devon is never here, but she is everywhere. I absorb the chestnut hair, the hazel eyes, the freckles. I drink her silhouette like a shot of vodka. Her presence has the same effect as the alcohol coursing through my veins.
I don't know what Sloane is doing here. I know she didn't come with us. From the way she acts, I thought I was her only friend and that's why she is always, always everywhere. Evidently, I'd been wrong. I see her now, across the room chatting with some girls.
She looks up just in time to catch me staring. I know she notices me because she is soon smiling and offering a wave. I stand stiffly, unsure of what to do in response. Part of me wants to be standing next to her. Part of me wants to cuss her out. Maybe I blame her for Devon leaving me. After all, things probably would have been different that night if she hadn't been there.
But she was. And Devon wasn't.
She's always been there when Devon wasn't. At least, she has been lately.
I don't know how I end up by her side. All I know is one minute, I was across the room. The next, I'm standing before Sloane in all of my wasted glory.
"Hey!" Sloane chirps once the two of us are alone. As alone as we can be in a crowded room, that is. "I didn't expect to see you here!"
"What are you doing here?" I blurt. My tongue is in control due to my mind being temporarily out of service.
"A girl in my Spanish class invited me," Sloane explains. "I didn't have anything better to do, so . . ." She shrugs. Silence falls over us like a heavy blanket. I haven't spoken to Sloane since homecoming. I wonder why I'm speaking to her now.
Sloane studies me with scrutiny. Her hazel eyes narrow, morphing colors behind her dark lashes. Green then blue then brown then all of those colors at once, the most beautiful chaos. I used to see my future in those eyes. I don't know what I see now.
"Hads?" Slaone questions gently. "Are you okay?"
"Not really," I admit without thinking. "Devon dumped me."
Sloane raises her eyebrows. I can't tell if she's genuinely shocked or faking. She had to have heard by now.
"Oh my God," she says, as if this is the worst thing she's ever been told. "When? Why? You two seemed so happy together . . ."
"Something about dreams," I slur with a shrug. "I think it's really 'cause Dev was pissed I was dancing with you at homecoming. Maybe 'cause she chose Stanford but not me. Who fucking knows."
Sloane eyes me like I've gone mad. I think I have, so I don't blame her.
"Hadley, if that was my fault, I am so sorry. I'll talk to her. I swear I will. I'll do whatever–"
"Will you drink with me?" I interrupt. "Or dance. Something. I don't know."
I'm unsure why I bother with the question. Maybe because I don't want to think about Devon anymore. Maybe because I can't seem to stop thinking about Sloane—unable to shake her from the back of my head since she randomly returned. Maybe I think too much and maybe I'm tired of thinking. So I don't. I just do—acting on a whim, careless and reckless and wasted.
Sloane hesitates for a moment. I can practically hear the gears turning in her mind. A smile slowly makes its way across her lips as she nods.
I take her hand in mine and lead her out of the room.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
"Do you remember that time I snuck through your window?" Sloane questions between bouts of laughter, clutching her sides as if she's in pain.
"Yes!" I cry much too loudly. "You fell out of the tree and I thought I was going to have to call 911!"
"Yeah!" Sloane snorts, giggling to herself like a schoolgirl with a crush. "And I said–I said–"
"You said: I'm okay but I think I broke my butt," I cut in, laughing as my head sways left and right. I don't know how Sloane and I managed to find any privacy in this place, though we somehow wandered into a relatively empty and dimly lit room that we've since decided to hide out in. I think it's some sort of closet, which is incredibly ironic. Two girls that used to secretly date, back in the closet together.
I grab the bottle of vodka placed between us and take another swig.
"We used to have so much fun," Sloane says with a sigh. "God, I miss those days."
"Right?" I agree. "Everything was so much simpler back then."
Sloane shoves my arm. "You have never been a simple person, Miss Hadley Carter."
"Me?" I retort in disbelief. "You're the one that always drove me insane. I never knew what we were. Girlfriends? Friends? Neither? Who fucking knew."
Sloane tries rolling her eyes, though her head mostly just spins itself. I think she's plastered. I'm plastered. Who cares? This is fun.
"I was in love with you," Sloane blurts out of the blue, as if this is something you just say to someone. Like it's nothing. "But you were different about stuff. Coming out was this big deal to you. Which is fine! But I've always just been . . . me. I don't know. I didn't want to ask you to do that for me when I knew you weren't ready. So we just . . . were."
"I liked what we were," I whisper-vomit, as if this is something you just say to your ex. Like it's nothing.
Maybe it is nothing. After all, we're drunk. And that was forever ago.
"I miss what we were," Sloane says. Her eyes go all wide, like she can't believe she's admitted this out loud.
"I do too," I confess. Because sometimes I really do. I miss Sloane being in my life. In what way, I don't know. I just know I like her being around.
"Do you think we could ever be like that again?" Sloane questions softly. "Whatever it was?"
I think on the thought for as long and hard as someone wasted out of their mind genuinely can. I think of everything. Sloane. Delaney. Being sent away. Meeting Devon. Being outed. Dating Devon. Sloane coming back. Losing Devon. This moment, now. If I could go back in time and have Sloane never move away, and lose everything else, would I do it?
"I don't know," I admit. It's the only answer I can come up with.
"Do you maybe want to find out?" Sloane asks. Her tone is eager, and so are her eyes. I can see it, see how badly she truly wants it. Wants me. And I feel guilty, because I don't think I feel what she does. I don't long for her, not like that.
Even as I'm sitting here with her, I'm thinking of someone else.
The guilt eating at my insides is what leads me to say, "Okay."
My back is against the wall, knees pulled to my chest. Sloane sits next to me in the same position, the side of her body pressed to mine. She is warm and soft and smells of rootbeer and vodka. Her eyes are bright in the darkness around us as her face creeps closer to mine, and I'm all too aware of every little detail she has to offer.
I recognize her lips as they move in closer to mine. They are full and warm and pink. And then they are on mine and I can't breathe I can't move I can't speak. My eyelids flutter closed as Sloane kisses me tentatively, withdrawing in seconds just to come back once more. She tastes like booze and nostalgia. She is kissing me, but I'm not kissing back. But then I am, and her tongue is exploring my mouth and our lips move at their own rhythm. It's foreign and familiar all at once.
It's different than kissing Devon is the single thought wandering through my mind.
That one thought is how I know the answer to Sloane's question. No, we can never go back to how we were–whatever we were. Sloane is beautiful. She is sexy and alluring and fun. She is kind and gentle. Shy. Compassionate. She is a wonderful girl, made up of all the things anyone would want in a partner.
But she isn't Devon. She doesn't give me fireworks when she kisses me. She doesn't light my soul on fire with a single touch. Her presence doesn't drive me crazy in the best of ways. Once upon a time, she did. But that time has long since come and gone.
"I'm sorry," I whisper against Sloane's lips as I pull away, resting my forehead against hers. "I'm so sorry."
Sloane is silent for a long moment. We share breath after breath, fingertips playing with one another's as we remain still in the silence.
She sighs as she leans back against the wall once more. "I hoped I was wrong, but I knew things would never be the same between us."
This statement piques my drunken curiosity. "How?" I ask innocently.
"I thought becoming friends again might change your mind," Sloane admits. "But nothing worked. I could see it, you know. How much you loved her. You looked at her like she hung the moon. And I just . . . knew. You never looked at me like that, Hadley. And you never will."
"It doesn't matter," I choke out bitterly. "She's gone."
"And she's stupid," Sloane says as she sips from the bottle in her hand. "I've lost you before. Shit. I'd never do that on purpose."
I bump my shoulder against Sloane's, making her laugh. "I do love you, Sloane. I hope you know that. I always will."
"I know you do," Sloane reassures me, squeezing my hand in hers. "You're just not in love with me."
"Are you in love with me?" I question, knowing I shouldn't yet doing it anyway.
Sloane sighs once more as she shrugs. "I don't know . . . I thought I was. I thought about you all the time after moving. I came back thinking we could pick up where we left off. But deep down, I think I knew that would never happen. And I actually really enjoyed just hanging out with you again as friends. Nothing more. Its been nice."
"It has," I agree. My heart swells. I realize that Sloane isn't going anywhere, and gone is the tension that has always lingered between us ever since her return. So two people who used to love each other really can just be friends. The love doesn't go away. It merely changes, just like we have.
"I'm really sorry about Devon," Sloane says, resting her head on my shoulder. "I hope she realizes she's made a mistake."
"I'm sorry too," I confess. "You're going to make someone really, really fucking happy. You know that?"
Sloane snorts, swatting at me playfully. "Stop it, Carter. You're making me blush."
I share in her laughter. "What do you say about joining the rest of civilization?"
Sloane whines. "Do we have to?"
I grab her hand as I rise to my feet. "Well, considering we don't live here, I say yes."
"I don't know if I can walk."
"I'll help you. Come on, gorgeous." Sloane giggles as I help her come to a standing position, tossing her arm over my shoulder as we exit the tiny room we've been hiding away in.
We share a smile as we wander out into the crowd, side by side.
For the first time since Devon left, I almost feel like maybe–just maybe–everything might turn out okay, after all.
———
a/n: 🙊🙊🙊