I Believe We're The Enemy

Whatsername’s P.O.V.

This is a bad idea.

“Oh, come one, Whatsername, it’ll be fun. You haven’t had any fun in a long time, I can tell,” Frank replies, sitting down on one of the sofas next to Gerard.

That much beer is not my idea of fun. I barely trust you sober.

“You know you want to.”

I’m not going to last much longer having to look at his stupid puppy dog face, and Inferno is already pouring alcoholic beverages down her throat, so I finally give in, leaving the regulation two and a half inches between Frank and I as I sit down. He struggles briefly to crack open a can of beer before handing it to me, and unlike everyone else in the room, I take slow, tiny sips, trying to hold on to my sobriety for as long as possible.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had anything alcoholic, and though I secretly savor the feeling, I know that I’m going to get very drunk tonight. I decide to warn Frank.

If I end up piss drunk, you still do not have permission to fuck me. If I try to make you do so, knock me out, okay?

Frank laughs. “Will do. Maybe.”

What do you mean, maybe?

“Maybe, as in, I will unless I’m too drunk to resist.”

I’m not worth screwing. Even if we are drunk.

I despise that look on his face, like I’m totally insane. “Oh, come on, Whatsername. You’re beautiful, you’re funny, you’re nice when you actually let people get to you, and something tells me you’d be pretty damn good in bed.”

For the millionth time since my return, he receives my death glare. If I wake up in bed with you, clothed or not, you will die.

“Got it. No sleeping with Whatsername.”

I give him one last dirty look and turn away, observing the rest of the room silently. The glances passing back and forth between Ray and Ginny tell me that they’ll probably end up fucking again before the end of the night, while Rose and Mikey, who are sitting amongst a growing pile of empty cans, are becoming quite touchy-feely. Last Inferno, to my surprise, seems to be going down a similar path. She’s practically Gerard’s rag doll, his puppet, these days; he tugs on one little string and she flies in whatever direction he wants her to go. He, of course, is completely enamored by her, hanging off her every word with honest fascination. I wouldn’t be surprised if they decide to fuck it all and get married. Take the Trans Am and ride off into the sunset. They’d probably be better off that way anyways.

Suddenly, I realize that I’m on my third beer and still chugging as Frank starts to open another one for me. Fuck. However, despite my dislike of this situation, I’m too tipsy to care by now, so I snatch the next drink from Frank and let it worm its way into my befuddled mouth. Frank just laughs at me. It sounds a bit off, as if I’m hearing him from underwater, but I blame the beer and forget about it. Inferno, giggling, suddenly falls across Frank’s lap, waving drunkenly up at him as she slowly attempts (and fails) to sit up. Both her and Gerard appear to be completely intoxicated; he’s tickling her in a relatively suggestive way as she laughs loudly and struggles to escape his grip. I shove her squirming body off of Frank and then proceed to hit him when he tries to hug me.

All of a sudden, Frank leaps across the room to tackle Ray, leaving a dejected Ginny sitting on the sidelines. Somehow, Ray has lost his shirt, and his hair is sticking out in every imaginable place and direction (not that it’s much different than normal), hinting that he and Ginny, like the nearby Mikey and Rose, had been making out. Kobra Kid and Glory Girl are completely lost in their own little world. As I watch (and am tempted to gag), she practically mashes her face into his, forcing their mouths into an uneven sort of rhythm against each other’s. I swear I can almost hear their hips grinding from where I sit across the room. It looks incredibly painful.

“Lizzie,” moans Inferno, diving behind me as she slurs one of my stupid nicknames. “Hide me, Gee’s gonna get me.”

“I know you’re there, Vi!” I jump out of Gerard’s way just in time, and he ends up attacking Lariah with those enormous, pale hands as he flops onto her slender form. His fingers jab at her hips again and again, and she grasps his shoulders and attempts to push him off. The result is a scene that looks so much like sexual relations that I’m forced to switch sofas and bury my face in Frank’s shoulder to keep from throwing up.

“Whatsername, what are you doing?” he mumbles, pushing a giggly Ginny off of his lap and onto Ray, who immediately starts kissing her. In response, I point at Gerard and Lariah. Frank just laughs.

Half an hour and several beers later, ray and Ginny announce that they’re going to bed, and they trot off toward their own room, which is across the hall from the room in which Grace is sleeping. I bid them goodnight with an absurdly cheery wave.

“Don’t wake Grace up,” Frank calls.

Gerard chimes in. “No glove, no love, Ray!”

“Fuck you, Gerard.”

“I can read the future!” Gerard replies, still molesting Lariah.

“Gee,” Mikey pipes, pushing Rose off of him for the time being, “what are you d-doing to Last Inferno?”

Gerard opens his mouth to reply, but decides that it’s a moot point when Rose grabs Mikey’s face and pulls his lips back to her own. Within minutes, Rose, who is nearly too drunk to move on two feet, has dragged Mikey into their room and slammed the door loudly without even breaking the kiss for a nanosecond. I have to admit, I’m impressed.

Lariah giggles obnoxiously. “Gee, your brother’s about to get laid.”

“At least he’s out of the way. Now that all the boring lovey-dovey people are gone, we should do something fun! Right, Frank?”

“Like what?” Frank responds, propping his feet up on my lap. I debate whether or not I should bite him before deciding that it’s a bad idea.

Gerard shrugs, finally rolling off of Inferno. “We could build a sand castle.”

“It’s dark, Gee, and this sand is too dry anyway,” Lariah interjects.

In response, Gerard makes an incredibly drunken pouty face, and Last Inferno jumps onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek sloppily. Ew. “We should play hide-and-seek tag,” Frank suggests, at which I roll my eyes but end up laughing.

Gerard grins. “Ray and Mikey’s rooms are off limits, and don’t wake Grace up. I’ll count first. Now, GO!”

Rose’s P.O.V.

Mikey is all over me. His breath ghosts constantly across my skin, but it isn’t nearly as daring as his hands, which navigate across my body like the best of sailors at sea. Our skin comes into contact in all of the most awkward places, but it still feels right, enough so that I can hear his breath coming in loud, moaning gasps as I touch him wherever my fingers decide to travel. I don’t quite know what happened to our clothes, but they’re gone. All that’s left is skin on skin, touching, emotions that we’re too turned on to express in words. Every once in a while, his lips steal my breath for a minute or so, but we’re usually too busy attacking each other to kiss.

Somewhere in the fray, I catch sight of a condom wrapper. Thank God he’s not drunk enough to impregnate me without thinking. Then, all of a sudden, something is different and I’m not sure what; there’s a new rhythm to our love and Mikey is closer to me, his unsteady weight practically suffocating my accepting body. There seems to be fog everywhere, and all I know is that he’s in me and he’s everywhere and I’m biting and sucking and licking at his collarbone to keep from screaming, and because I fucking love that collarbone. It’s always there for me, even when he’s so deep inside me that I’ve completely forgotten how to breathe.

“I love you, Mikey,” I gasp, so soft that I don’t even know if his groan is a response or just feeling. Then, suddenly, he grabs the side of my neck between his teeth, thrusting so deep into me that I let out the weirdest noise ever to escape my throat. My body is contorted, pleased, exploding, as if everything has been stretched like tiny fraying rubber bands and it’s all reached its limit. He’s telling me that he loves me too, but I don’t really hear it, I just feel the words against my skin and him everywhere. I think I’m screaming. Moaning, maybe. Or just babbling, my gasping stream of consciousness coming out so fast that it only sounds like one enormous expression, one huge holy shit this is insane, one frenzied chunk of verbalized love.

Before I even know it, it’s all over, and I’m gasping and he’s gasping and we are just two fish on land, one Swedish and one from New Jersey. He takes my hand, gently, and squeezes it. I almost want to run my hands over his skin once more, put on my seduction face and whisper again, but Mikey is falling asleep and so am I, I’m just too drunk to notice. I’m almost sad that we--I--probably he too--had to have our first when we’re this intoxicated. Before I fall out of consciousness, I take a moment to remember this, to store it away in my mind so that I can return to it whenever the need be, and because if I’m not a virgin anymore, I want to be able to remember the details of why. Everything makes me smile. Then, Mikey wraps his unconscious arms around me and I’m asleep.