My limbs are numb as I stumble to the car, slipping into the driver's seat. Jason slides in next to me, immediately resting a hand on my thigh, circling patterns on my skin. My friends Elena and Zoe crawl into their rightful spots in the back seats, giggling together in perfect harmony. With my boyfriend and two best friends with me, I start the car. The impatient vehicle jerks forward, a loud shriek escaping from the back seat, followed by the sound of the car door slamming.
We all laugh as I guide the car onto the highway. Jason's telling Elena and Zoe about his latest football game.
"That's when I scored my third goal, but this one was the greatest. The goalie dove for it and missed by at least three inches. If I hadn't done that right hook the whole game would've been for nothing. We were tied at that point and I was sprinting down the center field-"
His words fade into the background as I focus on the rhythm of his fingers against my skin. The street lights are bright dots of color, also spinning, circling like Jason's fingers. They spin once.
"My foot hit the ball right in the sweet spot. It went sailing for the goal."
Spin twice.
His fingers drift higher.
Another spin of the ground, the road, the sidewalk, the street lights. My head spins too. I feel as if I'm floating, a loose balloon lazily drifting upwards into oblivion.
Higher.
Higher.
Jason stops talking, instead grabbing the wheel. I let go, laughing at his frantic expression, "Jason, loosen up." I order, turning on the radio.
Jason gives me a startled look as he tells me to do something. I don't remember what.
Elena lets out an ear-piercing shriek. Zoe screams as well, but it's not the frivolous giggle from before. This time she sounds like she's about to die. Like she knows, in that second that her life will end very soon.
Higher.
Higher.
I'm jolted forwards as the car stops suddenly. Little bits of glass surround me. The airbags inflate, slamming me in the face. It's very hot. Another hit comes from behind this time and I'm roughly thrown forwards. I can't breathe.
Shrill sirens wail, echoing around me as the world goes black.
"Cat, I want you to meet Elle Bradley, our roommate," Casey begins, gesturing toward the girl in question.
"It's nice to meet you," I mutter, still trying to empty my head of the flashback.
Elle offers a hand, which I shake. Her hair is tied in a flawless ponytail, her outfit consisting of athletic shorts and a thin tank top pulled over her brightly patterned sports bra. She's a walking Nike advertisement. "And you are?" She prompts, shouldering a heavy looking bag.
"Catalina, but everyone calls me Cat," I smile, picking up one of her suitcases and leading her towards her room.
After she's all settled we convene in the main room, sitting on the couch and chatting.
Georgia bursts into the room, thin figure hurtling towards me. I startle, expecting her to slam into me, but she stops short directly in front of me.
"Cat, you won't believe it!"
I pause, raising my brows, "What won't I believe?"
"I got us invitations to The Party!"
"Don't you think you're getting a little too excited about a silly party, Georgie?"
"Not 'a silly party', Cat. The Party!" Georgia corrects me, "The ultimate party of the season and only the best of the best get invited. WE WERE INVITED!" She squeals, hopping up and down.
"So what's so special about it?"
"The guys there are, well, rumored to come once a year just for this party. They're exotic and beautiful. The party is held at this nice club in the middle of New Orleans. It's super classy and apparently has a pool on the roof, but I wouldn't know 'cause only public figures can get into that place. Models, singers, movie stars, oh my gosh. I can't wait, Cattie, it's gonna be so amazing."
"Slow down, Georgia. How'd you get us on the list in the first place?" I inquire.
"Well... I met this guy," She blushes, "His father owns the club and asked if I wanted to join him there. He said I could bring a friend and well, that's obviously you."
"So I'll just be a third wheel? Sounds exciting." I frown.
Georgia scowls, "You should be excited, Cat. This will be good for you, you're so uptight about everything. It's like you're allergic to alcohol or something, whenever we go out you won't even take a sip. I thought you needed to loosen up." Her defeated expression hits a chord.
"Of course, yes. I'd love to go, Georgie. And thank you for doing this for me," I try to reconcile, reassuring Georgia of my enthusiasm. If only she knew what alcohol did to me. If only she was aware of my past.
"Good, it's tonight. We'll get ready together and everything!" She skips out of my dorm with a returned bounce in her step.
I sigh, slumping back into the couch.
"What was that about?" Elle asks.
"Looks like I have a party to attend."
***
"How about this one?" Georgia offers, handing me a tight red dress.
I give it a once-over before handing it back, "Definitely not my style," I quip.
"This dress!" Georgia demands, "Is everybody's style!"
"Everyone but me," I reply, eyeing a green silk two-piece, "What about this one?" I hand the dress to her.
"If you want to look like the Grinch!" She moans, "Or better yet, a Shrek wannabe. Please, you'll look like a naive little prom girl in this!" She fires, giving me an exasperated glare.
I roll my eyes. At this point, two hours into our shopping fiasco, I'm just looking for something bearable to wear. If it weren't for Georgia's certain need to find "the perfect dress" for me, then we would've left hours ago.
Georgia hands me a short velvet number, "Try this on or I swear to God I'll kill somebody," Georgia threatens me, shoving the crushed velvet dress into my arms. I obey, practically sprinting to the dressing rooms.
The fabric clings to my skin like a wet T-shirt, revealing every curve. I self-consciously tug the hem upwards to cover my nearly exposed breasts, but the movement causes the already precarious position of the fabric to hike up my thighs until my entire ass is nearly bare.
"Almost done?" Georgia calls.
I huff, shifting the dress so that it covers as much as possible, then opening the door.
"You look..." Georgia starts.
"Fantastic," I hear from the entrance of the dressing room, "That dress looks amazing on you." A familiar figure comes closer, lazy steps against the floorboards.
"I would hardly call it a dress," I smirk, recognizing the face of my childhood best friend.
"You're right, of course. It appears to be just a thin slip of fabric wrapped, quite tightly, around your body, but that does not deter the fact that it makes you look like some sort of sexy angel," Marco hisses, giving me a rough hug. I squeeze his waist with all my might, praying that he's really here.
"What're you doing here?" I murmur into his jean jacket.
"I was in the neighborhood," Marco kisses my cheek, before stepping back from me.
"Marco, you live in Madrid. That's definitely not in the neighborhood," I raise my eyebrows, as Georgia gives Marco a once-over.
"I came to visit... and that Snapchat map led me here." He looks around at the dim dress store.
"Well, I'm glad you came," I smile, still confused as to why he flew all the way here without telling me.
Marco acknowledges Georgia, "Who's the friend?" He bites his lip, giving Georgia the all-too-familiar eye-fucking look. The one that causes any girl to have shivers down her spine.
"Georgia," She nods, extending a hand, "Georgia Vanderpool."
Marco lifts a corner of his mouth before refocusing on me, "The dress is great, but we should get out of this place. It smells like ass sweat with a hint of buttered popcorn. Why are you here again?" His look of disapproval is all too clear.
"That's what I've been wondering for the last two hours," I shrug, "Now am I buying this or not?"
"Definitely," Marco chimes.
"Not," Georgia frowns.
I roll my eyes, "I'm getting it!" The dress, to be quite honest, wouldn't be my first pick. But after two hours of criticism and the unnecessary hunt for perfection, I'm close to a breakdown. At this point, I'd wear a towel to the party. Not to mention the unexpected arrival of my all-time best friend, which prompts a definite need to leave.
Georgia sighs, all but giving up, "But there's a dress out there that's so much nicer and a lot less," She purses her lips, "For lack of a better word, slutty,"
"She looks nice," Marco huffs, "But we should head out. I want to know everything about the last few weeks."
Georgia gives me a knowing look. I may or may not have slipped a few details of my little "exploration" with Professor Romero to Georgia and she may or may not have squealed with delight at these supposed details.
"And I'm happy to tell you. Just let me change out of this and we can go." I slip back into the dressing room. My fingers fumble with the various zippers and clasps that make up this unreasonably complicated dress. Finally, I manage to untangle myself from the tight number and step out of the pooling fabric.
I join Georgia and Marco, who seem to have introduced themselves properly at this point, and let them lead me to the counter. After Marco insists on paying for the dress, which he does, much to my annoyance, we exit the store.
"Thank God, that place was starting to get to me. I'm going to have nightmares of clothing racks and distasteful patterns," Marco sighs, sauntering over to a cafe.
We sit around one of the tables, ordering drinks as I begin on my thorough explanation on the last three weeks. Marco's expressions are unreadable as I tell him of my little moment with the teacher. The frightening abyss I'd sensed, but also needed when I looked into his eyes.
"And that's what happened," I finish, bringing a hand up to my face and wiping away the thin layer of sweat that'd gathered since we'd entered the cafe. Georgia searches Marco's face, biting her lip. I do the same, eyes scanning the closed expression he's currently sporting, "If you don't support my, well, whatever this is, then I completely understand!" I add.
"That's just it, you have no clue what's going on now. Has he talked to you since then? Has he made any contact at all?" Marco questions, now turning his eyes to my face, searching the doubt-filled crevices of my soul.
"I-he," My face falls, "No, he hasn't."
Marco gives me that look, the one that says he expected as much.
"I'm worried about you, Cat," He tells me, leaning forward in his chair.
"But what if my feelings for him are real?"
"Your feelings, Cat, are not real. From what I've heard, all you feel is lust, and I wouldn't continue such a dangerous relationship just for the object of lust." Marco's words are brutally honest, so honest that I feel a little shard of something similar to ice slip between the folds of my skin.
"What I feel, Marco," I spit, "Is far from lust, not that you'd know a feeling like that, from what I remember you were quite the man-whore!" I immediately regret the words when they leave my mouth. Just because he cut me, gives me no right to cut him back.
Marco leans back, curling his lips. After a few moments of silence he responds, "I should go," As he stands I see the anger in his eyes, burning red hot.