Confessions

Victoria: January

“What are you doing yours on?” this guy hovers over my computer to ask. I pause the clip I’m editing immediately.

“Graduation. My friends,” I answer quickly and vaguely, wishing he’d go away. He’s making me uncomfortable and I don’t want him to see it.

It’s one of William that I haven’t had the chance to make anonymous.

I haven’t made it impersonal yet.

I minimize the screen and pretend like I’m looking for a file.

“Oh. Cool,” the guy says, and he moves on. I breathe a sigh of relief.

It’s strange, knowing all of this.

In front of my video camera, my friends are…different.

Part of me wishes I didn’t know some of the things they’ve told me.

Sometimes, even our drinking game is too much.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I’ve only had a few of Melly’s famous jello shots, so I’m feeling pretty tipsy but not yet drunk about now.

Happy Birthday to me.

My 22nd birthday party and I don’t even feel like partying.

All I can bring myself to do is watch.

I’m half-considering locking myself in the bedroom and just going to sleep.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Is it true what they say, after your 21st birthday?

Is it all downhill from here?

My thoughts are interrupted by Alex, Nate, and Ryland dragging me over for a birthday shot of tequila, which I never liked much, but at this point, I need anything that will make me more drunk and less tired.

Our apartment is packed with our friends and our friends’ friends and filled with enough alcohol to knock out an elephant.

I look around for them, and I don’t even know half the people here, and my best friends are preoccupied.

Lila, locked by the lips to Gabe, in the inconspicuous corner near the entrance, where they think no one can see them.

And Butcher, who’s probably as high as a fucking airplane, chatting up Lisa, [who everyone knows he’s sleeping with] on the other end of the room, near the kitchen, then I’m thinking, it’s my birthday, so who the fuck invited that slut?

Melly and Michael playing a round of beer pong against Sisky and another girl I don’t know.

William and Mike engrossed in a game of Circle of Death around the kitchen table.

And Jack- my slurred thoughts remind me.

Where’s Jack?

“I’ll be there around eleven,” is what he had said, not giving specifics – something stupid about being fashionably late, I remember-

“I’ll wear my best,” he said, yesterday morning at the smoothie place, and I find myself believing he’s just ridiculous enough to show up looking like he’s four years late to prom.

Sisky drags me over to the rectangular table- his partner’s left and I see they’ve replaced the beer with black cherry vodka, which can’t be a good idea.

We lose easily against Melly and Michael, so they get to stay sober for a little longer meanwhile we have to finish their cups.

It’s maybe an hour later when someone taps me on the shoulder.

“Happy Birthday,” he grins, and he’s holding a fucking flower he stole from the apartment complex next door’s mini-garden, and-

Well, he looks pretty damn adorable standing there with his hair sticking up funny in the back and tag poking out of his shirt by his neck.

I don’t know why, but I feel relieved suddenly, even though I don’t know the three guys that walked in with him.

“Jack!” I hug him.

I stumble when I try to pull away; I guess I’ve lost track of how much I’ve already drunk. He laughs, trying to steady me, even though I can tell he’s been pregaming beforehand since I can smell the liquor on his breath.

“Happy Birthday! Don’t tell me you’re already wasted.”

“Only a little,” I insist, even though I notice I’m still leaning on him.

Someone- I’m not sure who, hands me a bottle of beer, so of course I take a sip. Jack takes it away, and I look at him quizzically. He chugs it in under seven seconds.

“You have to let me catch up to you,” he explains, grinning.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I don’t know what time it is, I don’t know when we migrated from the kitchen to the dim hallway near the bedroom, and I don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore-

Is he still insisting that Home Alone is the greatest movie ever made, or has he moved on to another topic?

Either way, I grab him by the shirt, because I’ve been watching his lips move since he got here and I kind of want him to be quiet so I can kiss him.

He laughs drunkenly against my lips, but doesn’t stop me, while I pull him into the bedroom. I close the door and he locks it. My arms are arranged around his neck as he pins me against the door and playfully nips at my collarbone.

I moan; or at least I think it’s me, I’m too drunk to tell.

Barely before I realize it, his shirt is off, his hands are shifting my dress up over my thighs and I’m unbuckling his belt.

There’s knocking on the door, but we ignore it, or maybe I’m just hearing things.

Our lips meet clumsily again, bodies pressed together and eager hands continuing to wander until it’s more than obvious what comes next.

“Do you have-”

“Yeah,” he replies immediately, fumbling in the dark to find his pants on the floor.

“I really like you, you know,” he states quietly, sometime in between gasps for air and moans.

My fingernails leave marks on his shoulders while his hips crash into mine.

It’s fast but still good, or probably I’ve just lost all sense of time by now, anyway.

“Jack-”

Then it’s done, and I’m breathless and still trashed, just now more tired.

“You like me,” I state unsurely. He’s putting his pants and shirt on.

“I do,” he admits, glancing at me. I slip my dress back over my head.

“I didn’t know.” I examine myself in the mirror, fixing my hair the way it was and straightening my dress as to not appear suspicious. Not that anyone would notice.

Or care.

“Now you do,” he shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter. He buttons his jeans.

Suddenly, I have a huge headache.

I don’t want to believe him.

All this time, I assumed all the flirting was for fun, and nothing else.

I know he’s waiting for me to say I like him too, but I just can’t bring myself to say it and end up staring at myself. I catch a glimpse of disappointment on his face through the mirror.

“Happy Birthday,” is all he says, before he leaves the room and goes back to the party.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I don’t know why I agreed to come. I could barely wake up this morning.

I yawn.

“Are you embarrassed of me?” he asks, and I feel like shit. Like a bitch.

Partly because of my hangover, but mostly because I took advantage of him last night.
I guess we took advantage of each other.

“Jack, listen. I’m really sorry if…I mean, I don’t -” I begin, but I don’t even know what I’m trying to say, really.

“You’re not answering my question.”

I sigh inaudibly.

“No. I’m not embarrassed.”

“Okay,” he says, taking a few mouthfuls of his food.

I feel too sick to eat and down my coffee instead.

My headache and the bright restaurant lights are killing me.

We fall silent save for his loud chewing, and it feels like someone is drilling icicles into the back of my head.

“What now?” he asks, finally.

“I don’t know,” I say, even though I do know what’s expected.