All the Shades of Her

I’d been lost in the crowd of party-goers hijacking the massive house on Chain Lake Drive for over fifteen minutes. I couldn’t find Charis anywhere and I was starting to get severely pissed off. Fortunately, I’d managed to avoid the uncountable number of puke puddles and dry-humping teens, and it was just a case of figuring out where Charis was.

There was no sign of Reece and I had no intention of asking for her whereabouts, so I pushed through the crowd until I found a set of stairs. I squinted up at the upper landing, past an unconscious guy with his trousers round his ankles, and there at the top was Charis.

She was slumped against the wall, head on her knees and hair falling across her pale face. She didn’t react when I shook her shoulder roughly.

“Charis!” I shouted over the ridiculously loud bass music. No response. “Hey, Charis!” I shook her again, her head fell backwards against the wall with an inaudible thump, her eyes glazed.

Fuck this, I thought. I stood up, pulling her with me. Although Charis was skinny as hell, she was difficult to lift. I fought against gravity to hoist her on to unsteady feet, where she swayed against me and her head lolled like her neck was snapped. I pulled one thin arm around my neck and started down the stairs.

Once free from the stuffy interior of the house, I dragged Charis’ limp body over to the front lawn where we both slumped to the ground. Charis groaned.

“Charis, you owe me for this, you asshole,” I muttered breathlessly. I looked down at her as she breathed, peaceful in a weird, intoxicated kind of way. I moved a strand of hair from her smooth cheek. "I don't understand how you can still be beautiful when you're fucked up, it's really unfair," I whispered, searching her face. "And I don't understand why I have to love you like this when you don't care about me. There's nothing crueller than wanting something you can't have, but being surrounded by it every damn day."

I stared at her and she grumbled a half-conscious response. I rolled my eyes, abandoning the romanticism. I started shaking her again. “Charis – you – better – wake – up – you motherfu-”

Her eyes flickered open, dull and inebriated. She lifted a hand to rub them weakly. Finally, she focused on me. “Evan, why are you-”

“You needed me,” I sighed. And once again I put you first, I thought. She shut her eyes and smiled slightly.

“You’re always here when I need you.” She laughed quietly.

“I didn’t see your buddy Reece picking your drunk ass up off the floor,” I said evenly, Charis attempted a shrug.

“I wanted to... I wanted to talk to you about – last night...” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes again. I shook my head.

“If you’re angling for another kiss...” I joked half-heartedly and Charis chuckled. “Come on, I’m taking you back to my place.”

Charis smirked, eyes shut, still pulling off seductive even though she was totalled. “You’re forward,” she said. I grinned at her although she couldn’t see me.

“You wish.”

-

"I am never - drinking - again," Charis spluttered after her fourth time vomming into my toilet. I laughed, holding her hair and rubbing her back.

"Now, if I had a dollar every time Charis Daughtry said that..."

"You'd be buying the champagne," Charis finished grimly, wiping her mouth on her sleeve and falling backwards against my legs.

"You wanna lie down on the bed?" I asked and Charis raised a sarcastic eyebrow, looking up at me.

"You're determined to do me, aren't you?" she remarked, a smile tugging the corner of her mouth.

"Don't flatter yourself, you self-serving son-of-a-bitch," I retorted, helping her to her feet. I led her to my bed, where she clambered on top of the covers and curled up in the foetal position, sighing. Her forehead was damp with sweat so I ran a towel under the cold tap. "How was the party, anyway?" I called from my bathroom.

"It was alright," she replied. "Not many hot guys, though." I paused to wring the excess water from the towel.

"What a shame," I said non-sympathetically and Charis scoffed. I returned to the bedroom and joined her on the bed, she squirmed round on to her back and put her head in my lap, where she shut her eyes. I watched her chest rise and fall in time with her silent breath, the low-cut top I'd given her suggesting but not revealing. My mouth craved the hollows of her collar bones and the arch of her neck.

"Stop staring," she whispered, and my eyes found her smiling lips. My face burned red and I dabbed her forehead with the towel.

"I wasn't staring," I said defensively as I worked the towel around her brow. She chuckled softly before lapsing back into silence. Following the curve of her jaw down to her neck, I pressed the cool fabric against her flushed skin.

"That feels nice," she murmured, tilting her head to allow me better access. I tried to swallow past the dry lump in my throat; this was torture of the worst degree. I continued down to the concave bones below her neck, cooling her heated flesh. "I do care about you, you know," she said quietly.

I held the towel where it was and stared at her. I thought that she had been too drunk to acknowledge what I had been saying earlier, oblivious to my confessions. Obviously I was wrong. I didn't say anything, but carried on with the towel.

"I do care about you, more than you know," she repeated. Once again I said nothing, carrying on with an increased determination to make her stop talking. Her hand reached up to still my wrist and my eyes met hers, a pool of a million different shades of grey. Calm. "And if you want something enough, you can have it."