He's standing in front of the mirror as he tries to button up his dress pants.
It's the last pair that fit him, so they're his only hope. Or at least he thought they would fit him. He only got these a couple weeks ago so the fact that he's struggling to get the button to meet the hole is concerning. He also just had a pretty big meal this afternoon as well which probably didn't help... now that he's thinking about it, he's pretty much been gorging all day. It was Prom night and with graduation right around the corner the treats just seemed to be coming in by the truck load and of course he couldn't keep his hands off of them. One of his friends even received an edible arrangement from a family member overseas and when they said they wouldn't be able to finish it, he was the first to volunteer his stomach as extra storage.
Now he's standing here, in front of the mirror, unable to fasten his pants around that same edible arrangement, and those cookies, brownies, cupcakes... and everything else he's been eating over the last two weeks.
He makes a compromise and instead of closing the pants around his waist at his belly button, he slides them down a bit and buttons them up just underneath his belly. He releases the pants and watches as the waistline is engulfed by his gut. He makes eye contact with himself in the mirror and is surprised by how flushed his cheeks are. He's really out of shape.
He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a long breath before walking over to the closet and picking out a dress shirt.
He's relieved to find that the dress shirt closes much easier than the pants do. Once again he goes over to the mirror to assess the situation. He doesn't really want to tuck his shirt in but the way the tails hang out just makes the outfit look messy so he tucks them in. This accentuates how big his stomach is but he's going to have to live with it because it looks even worse untucked. He turns to the side and realizes it does the same thing to his love handles and the chunks of fat that sit on his lower back. Standing there for any longer isn't going to make his situation any better so he forces himself to leave the mirror.
He makes a mental note to not eat anything tonight otherwise these pants are going to rip; a promise that he knows he's not going to be able to keep.
For the most part, the house will set up itself; he just needs to be around to supervise the area and let people in through the front door.
The DJ comes to the door and he watches as crates on wheels are rolled through the door. They ask him where to put everything and the sound system ends up being set up on the main floor.
The photographers arrive next and they're led to the backyard. They set up a huge backdrop and a couple other photo stations for the new grads to get their pictures taken in front of.
Not long after, his close friends start to arrive.
Grayson grasps his hand when he walks through the front door, "Harlow, looks good man."
They all swivel their heads to look around the house. They've all been to his house before but the atmosphere is so cool with all the colored lights and the DJ warming up in the background.
"It feels like we're in a music video or something." says Quinn.
That was the perfect way to put it. Harlow finds himself looking around the room too, as if seeing it all for the first time with his friends; even though he's been here the entire day.
They haven't even made it to the kitchen yet and Harlow already has an open bag of chips in his hands. Grayson brought half a dozen for the party and he isn't too pleased that Harlow has already opened one and started devouring it but he knows there's nothing he can really do about it. Once Harlow has food in his hands, it's almost impossible to rip it away from him.
Harlow is a little disappointed in himself for eating right now. He's not even hungry. But he justifies it by telling himself that chips don't count. They're basically flavoured air so it's not like they're going to do any damage.
More and more people flood into the house as the hours pass by and Harlow feels himself slipping deeper and deeper into the background. His friends start talking to their other friends and, all of a sudden, he finds himself being completely pushed out of the conversation. He stands there reacting to the things people are saying but he knows he's not truly involved in the conversation. He feels uncomfortable and slowly backs away from the group.
Harlow's house seems to be more popular than Harlow himself. He's thrown multiple parties over the last few years but no one really knows that it's his house. It's more his friends that are loved by everyone so people probably just assume that it's one of their houses.
He's gotta go find something to distract himself with otherwise he'll turn to food, and he's been good tonight; he doesn't want to break the streak.
Harlow decides to go into the backyard and sees what's going on outside.
He goes out the back doors and is met by the sound of people laughing and shouting. He's glad everyone is having a good time. The photographers seem to have their hands full. There are crowds of people waiting around, planning what poses they're going to do when it's their turn. Seeing everyone all dressed up like this, parading around his family's estate, makes him feel like Gatsby or something.
The other guys his age are all dressed in outfits similar to his; full suits without the jackets, either because they didn't wear them or because they've probably lost them somewhere inside his house. Their shirts are neatly tucked into the front of their pants and their chests run parallel to their waistlines. Harlow can't remember the last time he was able to tuck his shirts into his pants like that without having to detour over the massive lump of lard hanging off of the front of his body. Those guys don't have to worry about not fitting into their pants by the end of the night.
Harlow turns and walks away from the commotion. He wants to go see if there's anything happening on the other side of the house.
The further away he walks, the quieter the night becomes.
Harlow is just starting to enjoy being alone and the feeling of the cool night air when he hears fast approaching footsteps. They quickly get louder and before he has the chance to react, someone flies around the corner. Their bodies collide together with a big thwack.
Courtney falls back on the ground hard. She raises a hand to the top of her head and rubs the sore spot. She probably would have made more of a fuss but when she looks up, she sees that Harlow is worse off than she is.
The front of his dress shirt is covered in blood and he's doubled over holding a hand to his face.
Courtney quickly gets up, forgetting that she's in pain, "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry!"
He's writhing in pain and she doesn't know what to do. Courtney kind of hovers around him. Eventually, he stands upright and she takes this opportunity to remove his hands from his face. She tries to keep a neutral expression on her face so she doesn't freak him out but she can't tell whether the blood is coming from his nose or his mouth.
She tells him to smile a bit so she can see if any of his teeth are crooked just to find that they are also caked with blood. His lips quiver and he can barely keep them apart so she reaches up and pulls his bottom lip down to look at the bottom ones.
Something comes over her and Courtney enters full doctor mode, "Let's get you to a bathroom."
Harlow crunches back into his forward folded position and follows Courtney into the house. Once they're inside, she lets him lead because she has no idea where any of the washrooms are. Harlow ends up leading them to his bedroom because that's the bathroom he's going to feel the most comfortable in right now; not to mention, the other ones were probably full of people doing random shit.
His bedroom is really big, and surprisingly clean. They both walk into the bathroom ensuite and Courtney turns on the water. Harlow holds his hands under the faucet while Courtney scrubs the blood from his hands.
They're both beginning to calm down now, and the sound of the running water is soothing.
Harlow feels more at ease emotionally, but physically, the pain is starting to set in even more now. Courtney can tell by the way he's wincing that the pain isn't letting up yet.
"Is it your mouth or your nose?" She asks.
"My nose." Harlow responds, gingerly.
Courtney breathes a sigh of relief. At least he's not going to need dental work.
"I'm going to go find a washcloth. I'll be right back" She informs him before leaving the room.
She walks down the hallway a little ways trying to find the laundry room or a linen closet. Every five steps she's stepping over something, whether it's discarded cups, garbage, or sprawled out drunk people. Eventually she locates a skinny door and towels of different sizes are folded neatly on the other side of it. She makes an effort to pull out the darkest colored towels and then uses all of her brain power to remember which way was back to the room. On her way back, she grabs a bottle of alcohol out of the hands of someone passed out on the floor.
Harlow is relieved when Courtney comes back into the bathroom. There was something about her presence that was calming but he also really doesn't want to be left alone right now.
She douses a face cloth in warm water and then holds it up to his face. To her surprise he seems to want her to wipe his face so she obliges. Slowly, more and more of Harlow's face becomes visible as the flakes of blood disappear. The inside of his nose seems to be producing the majority of the blood but there's also a gash on the top of his nose right where her head hit him.
She dabs around the cut the best that she can but he's still slightly cowering away from her.
"Sorry." She says the word as if it's going to take his pain away.
"It's okay." He takes the face cloth from her hand and finishes the rest himself.
He looks at himself in the mirror and notices that he's crying. Not very hard, but there are still tears coming from his eyes. His eyes are probably just watering from being hit in the nose.
Courtney feels useless just standing there watching him. She quickly tries to think of another way that she can help.
"Do you want me to go get someone for you?" Courtney asks.
Someone like who? He thinks to himself. His friends are probably all wasted and would make the situation worse if they were here right now. There's currently no one in the house he'd rather have here than... this girl. He just realizes that he doesn't even know her name.
"No, that's okay." His response is muffled through the cloth.
"Are you sure? Do you want me to call your girlfriend or something?"
"I don't have a girlfriend."
Well, she's run out of ideas now.
After a while he stands upright again and asks her how it looks. She responds honestly.
"At least the bleeding has stopped." She says.
It's true, at least the bleeding has stopped. The sink and surrounding counter is a mess. Courtney grabs some disinfectant wipes from the cupboard beneath the sink and starts wiping up what she can.
"You don't have to do that." Harlow insists, "The cleaning service is coming through tomorrow anyway."
"Oh, is this your house?" Courtney asks. It's kind of a dumb question because why else would he know the cleaning schedule.
"Mhm." He gingerly nods his head.
"Well, I'm just going to wipe the counter off a little bit. Just so it looks less like a crime scene. You should probably go lay down." She suggests.
"Can I have that?" Harlow is pointing to the bottle of liquor sitting on the counter.
"Oh." She forgot that she had brought that up for him, "Yeah, here."
Once the bottle is in his hand he turns to leave. Courtney reaches out and grabs his shirt, stopping him.
"Wait."
He looks at her, confused.
"You should probably take this off." She gestures at the blood soaked shirt that's sticking to his skin.
He nods and just stands there in front of her, slightly raising his arms. Courtney pulls at the bottom of the shirt first, untucking it from the waistband of his pants. Then, starting at the bottom, she unfastens every single button. She gently rubs some of the remaining blood off of his stomach and sends him off to bed with another washcloth just in case his nose starts bleeding again.
She throws the last wipe into the trash and then leaves the bathroom. She passes Harlow on her way out. He's lying on his back with his eyes partially closed. The bottle of alcohol is sitting on the night stand beside his bed and it's almost empty now.
Seeing the alcohol reminds her that the wound on the outside of his nose should probably be disinfected.