"Nice to see you coming with us Townes," he said, his voice distinctly tenor and smooth and British.
"Just wanted to check out the party life around Zach," I replied, smiling.
We descend to the first floor, exiting the building to find Bryon parked in front.
"Yes Vivien! I can see those fierce boots from here!" she yelled upon rolling her window down.
"You look gorgeous Bry," I complemented back, finally seeing her outfit as we walked closer. She wore a beautiful low-neckline silver top tucked in black skirt, probably coordinated with the black coat draped on her seat.
I hear her utter a thanks as I take the backseat while Zach takes the passenger seat in front. I bite down a teasing smile as he plants a kiss on her forehead.
Bryon begins driving again. She takes a turn away from ol' Café Romano towards Russell Square, then another turn into Bedford Way. She stops the engine in front of Bloomsbury Mansions, the first building in the block.
"Pre-drinks are inside, let's go!" she announced.
We all step out of the vehicle, gripping our jackets and coats over the seeping of cold. We enter the building, taking an elevator to the third floor. Down the hallway, I notice that we were walking towards this thunder of club beats. We stop in front of, I assume, Gracie's flat. It is confirmed with her bubbly smile ushering us inside, the sound of Major Lazer in blast.
"Gracie! You've been having fun without us, haven't you?" Bryon said on behalf of us three noticing a half-empty Beefeater pink gin.
"It's just a glass Bry," she defended. "By the way don't you all look totally lush tonight. Bry, this is a Paris Hilton moment right here. Vivien, baby, this style screams fashion week. And Zach, dapper with the clean shave."
Gracie is an Arts and Media Management student, on her year 2, and is excited by anything in the lines of design and style. She's a wavy-bobbed brunette with striking bangs just above her light brown eyes.
"You look lush yourself Gracie, as usual," Bryon said. She was right. Gracie always wore things really good, even on school days, to match her gorgeousness. Today, her style is only more apparent. She is donning a faux leather dress with a thigh-high slit on the side and ankle boots with square heels that are taller than both mine and Bryon's.
"Okay, enough with the admirations, let's get the pregaming going!" Gracie cheered, giving each of us a glass on which she poured the other half of her pink gin. She fills each near the brim, except Zach who decided he will be the designated driver and will try to keep himself sober.
An hour goes by without realizing. All of us engage in conversation about our lives before college and during. We got excited over a cute guy sending a snap to Gracie. We opened the message together like a birthday gift. Then, we helped her navigate the conversation with him. And now we're on our way to The Montague with a meetup with Nate—the guy from Gracie's snap—awaiting her.
We made it swiftly inside, my worry over IDs getting checked slipping away unknowingly. I guess they don't do those things over this side of the world.
The Montague was big. Interestingly, it has a contrast of black and white, with black concentrated on the dancefloor. Everything was lit with neon lights. Even the cocktail bar table itself and the stools have blue and red radiating off of them. I blink away the thought of Barbican's own neons.
The beat was hitting so hard, I feel my heart pound along. The festivity is definitely on the roll, with everyone busy having their fun in welcoming the weekends. We find our corner in a round leather couch. Zach offers to buy the first round of shots.
"It's all I'm having I swear," he explained, committed to limiting his drinks for the sake of sobriety and all of us going home safe.
The shots just keep coming, all of us girls offering for the next couple of rounds. I'm thankful I took extra online work before this term started, now some of the bucks are in the form of liquor in front of us.
Nate from Gracie's snap finally showed up. This guy looks like the younger brother of Tom Hiddleston. Tall, chestnut hair, light-green eyes. He's even sporting a similar quintessential style, with an unbuttoned dress shirt whose sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
After saying hi to us three, him and Gracie immerse in their own talk. In some moments, the flirting was very outward that we all just avoid them in our line of vision.
Just when the speakers play 'Never Be Like You' by Flume, they excuse themselves from us to head to the dancefloor. Bryon and I share a knowing look, both of us making sure that Gracie is still in full control of herself, before letting them go.
A little later, the alcohol was starting to get to Bryon, with her restlessness conflicted by her sluggish smile for Zach. Meanwhile, I feel sluggish but is thirsty to be energetic. The confidence spike is still there, after all, and I wanted to put it to use.
Watching Bryon and Zach go into their own world, much like Gracie and Nate, has officially placed me as the thirdwheel. The two look like they're seconds away from snogging and I agonizingly wait for it to happen. Zach drapes his arm around her while she drew circles on his chest. I can't help but feel meddlesome, for the second time tonight, in their intimate moment so I direct my gaze back to my phone. I give myself ten minutes and if nobody still decides to go home or fire me out of being the thirdwheel, I will head to the dancefloor and just let loose alone.
12:18.
The ten minutes begin and I kill each second by looking through twitter.
My fast scrolling is slowed by a TMZ tweet. Reading every word brought a layering, thick feeling to my chest. The thickness gave me uncomfortable hurt and denying that hurt only led to me feeling more hurt. I didn't want to believe I'm hurt because I didn't have the right. But emotions are not only endowed by someone or by society. It's also personal. It's unconscious, unthinking, but also completely honest.
'Harry Styles reconciles with Kendall Jenner in her 21st birthday bash?'
I read all of it again, accepting the tender pain. And then I read again thinking confronting the cause of the pain would make me used to it. But the throbbing only normalizes, remaining completely present, just a little less strong.
I lift the last filled shot glass on the table, wishing it could wash away the feeling, wishing that I didn't have such high tolerance for alcohol. But nothing came true after downing it to the bottom. Then I sat there not wanting to do anything with my phone, as if it was to blame for my woe. 12:25. I held it on my lap awkwardly, pressing the power button to turn it off.
It's funny that with him so far away from me now, the mere mention of his name sends me spiraling in my head. Still a force of nature without his presence, I guess.
A waiter disrupts my moping, placing a martini glass with an obvious unaffordable aesthetic to it. Its pink color resembles the Beefeater we had before we got here. But with the rose, lemon slice, and blueberry garnish, I'm guessing it's anything but.
As the waiter starts to turn away, I call him, "Excuse me. I can't take this. I didn't order this."
"Uh, it's been paid for Ma'am," he said.
"Care to tell me who?" I sarcastically asked, feeling my misery slip a little in those words. I want to say that the drinks have finally entered my system, but I think this is my hurt speaking.
"By him," he answered, pointing over to the heavily illuminated cocktail bar.
a/n:
Dun dun dun. Who could it be?
Anyway I listened to the Glee version of Rebecca Black's Friday for this, and I don't know why. It's a fun song though. Classic.
Been busy lately so I really had no time to edit these chapters. But they've been stuck with me for a while sooooo here yall go.
I would like to bring attention #JUNKTERRORBILLNOW.
The new proposed bill in the Philippines, once passed, can be a pretext for abuse and denial of freedom of speech for anyone who airs out opinion that the government may deem disagreeable. It openly ignores the Constitution's Bill of Rights. So if you may, please help, join us so that we'll be louder when we call to junk TERROR BILL.
And also, as I've previously mentioned:
https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/
x
ps and disclaimer: inaccurate descriptions of locations to fit the story's flow.