Sinking Faster

Courtney and I carpooled with the guys to the party in their van, of which appeared to be quite the pigsty. Empty cups, scraps of paper, and various debris littered its carpeted floor. Sitting near the window in the very back row, I took my time counting every single cup that lingered in my peripheral sight; so far, there were thirty-three, all monogrammed with a logo from some fast-food restaurant. I didn’t even want to know how many more remained in the front of the van. But as the saying goes, boys will be boys.

Nick sang in A Rocket to the Moon, and he was also one of The Maine’s good friends. He was the host of this party and lived about two and a half hours out of town. Apparently, it was going to be “huge” as Jared told me, marking the beginning of the summer. Needless to say, the ride was long. And boring. Although random conversation struck among all of us, the Arizona heat was too great to bear, seeping through the open windows of the van around all of us. This humidity certainly did not get along with me, as well as the seven other sweaty and muggy people in the van, due to the fact we were confined in such a small space.

In the front, John was singing loudly to 3OH!3, idly tapping his hands on the steering wheel, while Kennedy, in the passenger seat, texted someone on his iPhone. In the middle seat, Jared, sitting next to the window, drummed his fingers absentmindedly on his lap, singing along with John. Next to him, Pat was asleep, mouth open, on Garrett’s shoulder, of whom scribbled away animatedly in the notebook perched on his lap. Next to me, Courtney and Tim, Pat’s brother, chattered mindlessly about how hungry they were. I, on the other hand, having reached my full capacity of boredom, leaned forward, looking over Garrett’s shoulder, as he drew what looked like zombies. Shaking my head, smirking, I sat back, looking out of the window. After passing millions of lavish mansions, all of which corresponded with each other, John finally parked the van along the curb.

A few hours later, the party was in full swing, the music blasting as loud as it could go. Everyone, red cup in hand, roamed across the hardwood floors. Standing at the staircase across from the front door, looking for any familiar faces. Upon doing so, Halvo spotted me, grabbing me by the arm to introduce me to Nick.

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard about you! You’re Courtney’s friend right? C’mon, let’s go get you a drink…” Nick slurred as he took drank from his now empty cup. He then threw an arm across my shoulder, leading me to what I assume was the kitchen.

Across the counter lie various bottles of liquor and cases of beer, stocked next to each other, as most had already been consumed. Grabbing a cup, Nick poured some lemonade and vodka - a brand I’d never had before - into it, handing it to me.

“Try it,” he said, leaning back against the counter, grinning at his handiwork. I brought the cup to my lips, sipping the bitter concoction. “You like it?”

“Yeah, it’s actually pretty good! Thanks,” I exclaimed, taking another sip.

“Great!” he replied, getting a beer from its case, popping it open. He then ruffled my hair a bit, telling me to “go enjoy the party”.

I laughed, shaking my head. I found Courtney, who was watching John and Jared in the living room; both were sitting on the couch, taking turns drinking the numerous amounts of jello shots that were lined along the coffee table in front of them.

“What’s going on?” I asked Courtney, who was taking a picture of them with her blackberry, shaking her head.

“John’s trying to drink more than Jared, who of course, claims that he can out drink more than all of us. And he’s right. John’s losing,” she explained, now putting her phone in the pocket of her shorts, chuckling.

“Jeez,” I said, laughing with her, putting my cup down. “You’d think he’d remember what a bad hangover I ended up with last time I tried to out drink Jared.”

“I know, right? But no one can stop John when he’s determined. Kennedy tried, but John just talked his head off.” I looked over at Kennedy, who was rolling his eyes at John, smirking. By now, John looked completely ruddy, having finally given up, soon passing out on the couch. It was clear Jared had won, but he looked just the same, as if he were about to pass out at any given moment.

I glanced over across the room, and saw Garrett, who stood with his hands in his pockets, face flushed, talking to some girl, of whom was flailing her arms around. She had medium-length brown hair, and wore what appeared to be a dress, although it was short enough to be mistaken as a shirt. Truth be told, she looked pretty pissed, yelling wretchedly at him as he stood in front of her, hair astray, showing no interest in the situation whatsoever. Suddenly enough, he turned his head in my direction, his eyes landing on mine, raising his eyebrows at me. Shrugging my shoulders, I turned away and filled my cup again, having nothing better to do.

I teetered my way through the crowds of people, stumbling around the first floor of the house, realizing that I was standing in the same spot at which I came in, near the staircase. I sat on the first two steps of the stairwell, looking down at my gladiator sandals, playing with the straps. Every so often, people would pass by, walking across to the other room in their drunken stupor, giggling, cup in hand.

I had to admit, this was a good party - there was no denying that. There was just the right amount of people, the alcohol was plentiful and the music was loud enough to make the house shake. I felt desolate, maybe because I didn’t know many people here. This was such a rare feeling for me. Usually I’d be out there, shaking my ass, doing my thing, not giving a shit about anything. Although, as of late, I felt this sudden unsettling, perturbing feeling of anxiety come crawling at the pit of my stomach, becoming so potent that I felt like someone was gripping onto my lungs. My breathing became forced and soon I’d start to sweat nervously, unsure of what even prompted the feeling in the first place.

I was beginning to become closer with the guys, hanging out with them a countless number of times, but I was not what one would call “best friends” with them at all, not that I was exactly planning to be. Garrett was warming up to me, I suppose, although I could sense that he still had his guard up. He was friendly toward me, but one would probably make the assumption that we were just acquaintances, not friends. He continued to toss a degrading comment about me here or there, albeit I would never do anything to trigger him to. It seemed as if every time I felt that we were getting somewhere, he would say something to refrain me from believing that we’d even accomplished anything at all.

I found myself fretting more and more over this, about his perception of me, and I wasn’t used to it. Unbeknownst to me, the person in question was right in front of me, leaning against the railing of the stairwell.

“Not having a good time?” he asked, holding a bottle of beer in his hand, smirking.

I yawned, feeling a bit dizzy. “Yeah, I am. I just don’t really know anyone here,” I complained, lifting my head to look at him. He looked tired and disheveled; there were bags under his eyes and his hair was in a state of disarray.

He sighed, moving to sit next to me, putting his beer down beside him. “I know a whole bunch. I’m just not in the ‘party mood’,” he said quoting it with his fingers.

“Why?” I asked, bringing my knees up to my chest, putting my head down.

“I dunno. Shit happens, you know?” he paused, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just, you know that girl you saw me with before? The one that was yelling at me?”

“Yeah,” I murmured against my arm, now sitting up to face him. “What about her?”

“She’s my girlfriend. Or my ex, rather. She won’t leave me alone. She tells me she doesn‘t want anything to do with me, and then calls me out, wondering why I’m not talking to her. It’s bullshit.”

“Yeah, it is,” I chuckled. “Have you pointed that out to her? That she’s hypocritical or whatever?”

“Yeah,” he exclaimed, nodding his head. “She doesn’t admit to it or do anything to justify it. No matter what I do, it’s wrong in her eyes.”

I bit my lip, wondering what I could say to make him feel better. To be honest, I’ve never experienced anything remotely close to this, a relationship, as I was discreditable of any knowledge on the subject. I’ve only witnessed it. I’ve never had that notorious heart-beating-out-of-your-chest sentiment. Thus, I was not the right person to go to when it came to romances gone wrong. “I’m sorry, but I don’t really have any expertise in this category,” I replied, resting my head on my shoulder. “I mean, I’ve never dealt with it before.”

Then, unexpectedly, he scoffed, rolling his eyes, pure disgust apparent across his face. “Well, of course you haven’t. I wasn’t expecting you to, anyway.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I felt nauseous and exhausted, as the room felt like it was spinning, spinning, spinning. “I’ll see you later, Garrett,” I spat at him, stepping down the stairs, peeved of the situation. I was done trying when it came to him. Upon realizing this, I snatched a glass bottle hastily from the counter, pouring its contents in my cup. For me, the party was just getting started.