Loaded and Alone

Teghan Kessler lived for the late night weekends on Sixth Street. She found the musky odor of sweat and the addictive smell of cigarette smoke sticking to her clothing so appealing. The taste of liquid poison burning the back of her throat excited her, as well as the feeling of other bodies rubbing against her own as it moved to the beat of the fast-paced songs. But the part that enthralled her the most was what all of that would always lead to - she loved not knowing where she'd wake up the next morning and who she'd wake up next to. Teghan absolutely enjoyed the wild and carefree life.

"I could live like this forever," she always says to me. I'd smile and say, "Me too."

And I genuinely did, at the beginning. I liked walking the downtown streets with her, making new "friends", and tasting new mystery beverages, but now my smile would diminish just a little more than the weekend before.

It was getting increasingly difficult to keep up with this facade because no matter how the night would play out, my emotional state remained the same - I would still feel miserable, angry, and hopeful that I will 'get it right' the next time around. Nothing or no one, not even the persistent voice in my head, could prevent me from jumping into bed with the next stranger I'd come across. Since my first night of living like this, I continued to hold onto the delusion that what I was doing will change how I feel and help me forget what I had done.

Live to forget, Nova. Live to forget. So none the less, this weekend was no different.

Still dressed in a burnt orange Longhorns t-shirt and black Victoria's Secret sweatpants, I sat on the living room couch, watching the latest episode of Pretty Little Liars and waiting for Teghan to finish dolling herself up. She always took her sweet time and I had quickly learned to wait until she'd walk out of her bedroom completely dressed, before getting ready myself.

It was nearing 9:00 when she finally had entered the living room, looking hot as usual and slipping on her silver hoop earrings. I stood from the couch and went into my bedroom to change into a purple, strapless mini dress and matching purple, peep-toe pumps. After quickly applying my Sephora war paint and grabbing a small clutch purse from the closet, I headed back into the living room to find Teghan adjusting the last strap of her red stilettos.

"Ready?" she asked with her hand on the doorknob.

I nodded my head and followed her out to the bottom floor of our apartments to wait for the rest of our group to arrive. As soon as we sat down upon the concrete bench outside the main office, Nash Zuckerman's familiar green Jeep Wrangler pulled up to the curb with his already tipsy girlfriend Lily Pritchard riding shotgun and his best friend Dillon Wilder sitting behind the driver's seat with a blunt in between his lips. As soon as Teghan and I climbed into the back row, Nash gunned the engine and we were off.

Whenever our group goes out to party, Nash is always the one behind the wheel because he doesn't drink. A bottle of beer hasn't touched his lips since his dad passed away from binge drinking, and alcoholism runs in his family. You would think that losing my own parents to a drunk driver would be damn good reason for me to put the bottle down, but instead it did the opposite; I don't put a bottle down unless I've emptied it.

The ride to Sixth Street went by faster then usual, and as soon as Nash pulled into a vacant free parking spot, Teghan was the first one out of the Jeep even though she was sandwiched between Dillon and I.

"Where to first?" she asked with a devilish grin.

"Vanity," I quickly said, already walking away from them. "Tony's working tonight and he's the only one on this goddamn block that knows how to make a proper bomb shot." Teghan caught up to me and threw an arm around my neck while Nash, Lily, and Dillon trailed close behind.

Slade, Vanity's bouncer whom our group has come to know and love, was standing at the doorway telling a group of girls who didn't look a day over fifteen to take a hike. As soon as he caught sight of us, he smiled and motioned with his head to go right in. I sent him a flirtatious wink of thanks and smirked at the high school freshmen as we passed through the door with ease.

Inside, I hopped onto the bar and placed a quick kiss on Tony's cheek. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dillon's gaze narrow as he angrily muttered something to Nash.

"What's your poison tonight, ladies?" Tony asked, wiping down the counter.

I opened my mouth to speak but before I could answer, a familiar rough voice called my name and I froze. The voice in my head urged me not to look, but I stopped listening to it years ago and I made the mistake of turning my head around, only to collide with a pair of clear blue eyes that mirrored mine.

"Jaxon," I softly breathed. Hot tears brimmed my eyes as I thought back to the last time I saw my big brother, and what had happened the day I walked, or more so, ran away.

Then I suddenly remembered where we were at now and I quickly turned to Tony with a stern expression.

"Give me a shot of tequila," I said. "And keep 'em coming."