Anger Is a Gift

The lights started to blur together. Their movements slowed with the movements of my head, creating streaks all over the place. Everything seemed to slow down. As I moved my body with the music, the surroundings seemed to have this delay. It was as if I was moving so much quicker than my eyes could keep up with. My world swaying around me as a late reaction to my flying. The feeling was great. The warmth streaming through my veins, heating me from the inside out. It was warming my fingertips, it was warming my core, toes wiggling. The music boomed around me, barely finding my ears, dulled to my own little world. My fingers were cramped around a red plastic cup, or was it blue? The lights around me made it hard to make out, and what did I care anyways? Lifting it back up to my lips, I felt the lovely cold liquid filling my mouth. The sting of the alcohol numbed my throat as it slid down during my unrelenting movements. Biting on the rim of the plastic cup, I forced the booze down, instead of up. I was feeling woozy and I was enjoying every moment of it, at the best of my abilities.

The place was swarming. Bodies riding against each other, voluntary or not. There was no movement without touching the ones beside you. I did not care, the sweaty bodies had started to melt together in my blur as one giant sea of people. Their warmth radiated against me as I closed my eyes and felt how the world still rocked beneath my feet. A little drop of sweat made its way from my hairline down my neck, I could feel it travel towards my collarbone. It was so freaking hot here.

My hips kept rocking side to side, a slave to the music pulsing through me. It vibrated through my body, through my fibers, though it did not reach my ears. The music seemed distant and yet so much inside of me. Feeling as if I was wearing earmuffs and my state of intoxication was not allowing my ears to fully work. I was wrapped in this warm blanket of alcohol, so sheltered from the world and yet so much enjoying all this around me.

I felt the warm bodies bumping into mine as I kept on dancing. I felt sultry, I felt wanted. My body was this liquid that could molt itself into any shape.

Are you proud of me now, daddy? I’m kind of enjoying being this imperfect daughter you and mom made me out to be.

Pushing away thoughts of my father, pushing away his judgemental frown that lingered in my third eye, I tried enjoying myself even more. I staggered towards the keg that was placed across the room. These parties always had a keg, although this one didn’t seem to stay in one place. God, it was hard walking straight. I grabbed ahold of the walls and guided myself to this broth that made me feel so good. I wanted to feel numb, to feel this happy emptiness inside of me. I wanted to make the wrong decisions, maybe even wake up in some strange bed, next to some strange guy. I had tried so long to be that girl my parents wanted me to be, now I was trying to be that girl they feared.

Arriving at the keg, I held up my empty cup and before I knew it someone grabbed ahold of it and filled it right up.

“Thank you,” I said, sighing to this random dude that stood grinning with the keg hose in his hands. He was good-looking, I thought. It could be the haze I was in that made him look good, or it could be the God awful truth.

“The pleasure is all mine, my smashed sweetheart,” he said, still sporting that amazing grin on his face. He was truly my type, yes, he was. Looking him over, he was everything I ever fell for; all kinds of wrong.

I had always tried to be defiant. I had tried to be passionate, tried to stand up against my folks, against my restraints. I had always failed. There was something holding me back. Something inhibiting my ability of rebellion. I had never felt strongly. Not about anything or anyone for that matter. I had no passion, I had interests. It made me boring. It made me bland. So this was my thrill, going for the ones that were rebellious. Going for all kinds of wrong.

“I’m not your sweetheart, baby." My tongue was slurred as I walked back to the dancefloor. On my route of inebriated travel, I bumped against multiple people, their sweaty and hot bodies smudging mine. Looking back over my shoulder I saw the blond haired bartender watching me dissolve into the waves of people, swallowed by a sea of lust. Just as I felt a sly smile creeping up my face, I collided with something hard, and wet. Mostly wet.

A splash of golden liquid flowed over my cleavage and into my bra. Trying to jump back, I felt my reflexes being detained by the alcohol in my blood. I was soaked and as I looked up, the smile had faded from my face and the happy glow had gone.

“Watch where you are going, piece of shit!” The words spilled out of my mouth, unstoppable as the beer that now covered my front. A feeling was rising inside of me that scared me. A feeling I had never felt in this immensity. Never had I experienced the rage that was still racing inside of me, filling me up with a haze of red. My drunkenness had killed off any of my brakes and I was feeling like a wildling. Heart pumping, heavy breathing, the works.

The guy that spilled his drink all over me, threw his hands in the air and smiled like nothing was wrong.

“I’m sorry, but it was you that stumbled into me,” He said. Bowing closer to me he whispered; “Can’t hold your liquor?”

There was alcohol on his breath, so I figured the one spilled over me was not his first. As my movements were still slow I felt them warming up, I felt my already clammy skin getting more moist. There was an urge growing inside of me, as I watched his presumptuous face looking down on me. An urge I had never experienced before. Not like this.

“I’ll show you how intoxicated I am! When I smack that stupid grin off your face!” I spat in his face. Being confident I was quick enough I started raising my arm, readying for the impact with his smug cheek.

Before I was able to even raise my hand halfway, a strong hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled my arm back down. I felt a body touching my back and my arm being twisted down. A calm mysterious voice sounded behind me.

“She doesn’t mean that.” I wanted to turn and tell this guy standing behind me, this guy that smelled so good while surrounded by scents of sweat and alcohol, I wanted to tell him. Tell him I did mean that, shaking on my feet from rage. Violence inhabited my body and wanted to break free, trying to quaver its way out. However, the mysterious guy had already let go of me, and in my delated state of confusion, he had stepped between me and the asshole. As my drunken eyes searched him I concluded he was a feast to the eye. He was well built, dark curls and an athletic body.

Who is this interfering Jackass?