P.S. I Loathe You.

I sighed as Taylor dragged me over.

”DID YOU JUST TELL ME THAT PETER WENTZ INVITED YOU TO HANG OUT WITH THEM?!” she screamed, her kohl-lined eyes wider than ever.

“Yes, Taylor, he asked me to hang out. You can come too. Now help me get dressed.” I replied, rolling my eyes as I ripped open the Louis Vuitton and ripping through the clothes I had shoved in there.

Taylor rolled her eyes at my impatience and sat down next to me, ripping through the other suitcase. “No… Too preppy… Maybe… No… No…” she muttered, basically throwing my clothes everywhere. Finally, giving up, she turned to me.

“Why is your wardrobe missing anything Hot Topic, and filled with everything that screams prep?”

“Because that store scares me.”

“That’s no excuse! C’mon, we’ll go through my wardrobe. You’ll look way cuter that way.” Taylor dumped my Louis Vuitton on the ground and hopped over the tossed clothes to her Samsonite, opening her already stuffed suitcase.

Clothes exploded everywhere – literally, it was like a rainbow that blew up. I was hit with several tops and a pair of purple skinny jeans, and I giggled slightly – huh. Anyways, Taylor snatched her clothes off of me and my bunk, fishing out several items.

Finally, I was dressed – a black top with ‘Invader Zim’ written across the chest in rainbow letters and the same purple skinny jeans that had hit me in the face, with a tie instead of a belt that went through the belt loops of the jeans. Wrinkling my nose at the horrid color-clash violations, I unwillingly changed into the outfit and walked out. I was soon tackled with 20 pounds of eyeliner and mascara.

--
We were at the doors of the bus now. A nervous tingle shot through my belly button, hearing the loud clinking noises and laughter. Gulping, I knocked. Once. Twice. Three times. The door shot open, finally, and the creepy, Jewish-looking guy opened the door, clearly drunk. “H-hey! Get in here.” He said, his hands reaching out to grab me by the shoulder and Taylor by the hand, as he dragged us into what was clearly a party scene.

People were on the couch and on the floor, all circled around. There was a bottle in the middle – Spin the Bottle. Ugh. Frowning, I clutched onto Taylor as I sat down next to Patrick and Peter, rolling my eyes. “This is lame, guys.” I muttered.

“Yes, this is lame, but this is also different. It’s not just Spin the Bottle, its Kiss or Dare.” Pete replied, smirking at me slightly, his voice reeking of Vodka. I eyed the empty pile of bottles – no wonder. “Basically, you spin the bottle, and when it lands on another person, you either make out with them in the bathroom, a la Seven Minutes in Heaven, or you get a dare. Most of them have been drinking dares.” Pete explained, shrugging as his eyes watched the bottle. When it landed on him, he looked up – and Taylor looked like she was about to pass out. Wait, she had spun the bottle?

They left for the bathroom, and it turned out it was my turn. Pausing, I stared at everyone in the circle – a mix of drunken people, girls with seriously tight tank tops and guys with lip gloss smeared from the forehead all the way down the neck… And beyond. I didn’t even want to think about the rest. Watching Pete and Taylor carefully, I spun the bottle. It went around several times, passing several people, slowing down gradually – until it landed on Pete. Horrified, I immediately blurted out, “Dare.”

Pete smirked. “I dare you to make out with Patrick.”

I felt my cheeks turn pink and eyed Patrick out of the corner of my eye – his entire face, hairline to neck, had turned bright red. He was obviously not drunk – he was sitting on the corner of the couch, trying to stay out of this. Rolling my eyes slightly, I got up and walked across the circle, over to Patrick, my hand out. He stared at it, me, then took my hand, very slowly. I tugged him up, and pulled ourselves to the bathroom, slamming the door behind Patrick.

Patrick looked seriously weirded-out, sort of stammering, blushing and mumbling something to his shoes again. I sat down on the toilet seat, listening to the uproarious laughter coming from outside.
Patrick was the first to speak. “Aren’t we supposed to –“

I cut him off. “No. We’re not even going there. Besides, you’ve seen their faces – they’re too fucking hammered.”

What he did next surprised me to the extreme –

He kissed me.

Soft, tender lips brushed against mine, and my surprised body jumped up slightly, my eyes wide as his lips pressed against mine in the most careful way. My random, idiotic mind wondered, “I forget what flavour my lip gloss is. Was it s’mores?”

He pulled away from me at this moment, and I regarded him with a shocked, surprised face. “What… The… Fuck?” I asked slowly, my eyes widened and licking my lips a little bit.

Patrick was blushing again – this time, a little lighter shade, but none the less, a pink shade that went from the roots of his hair to his neckline. Pulling me up on my feet, he dragged me out this time, hand in hand.

His hands were warm, by the way.