That Party Last Night Was Awfully Crazy

Parties like these always leave a half-bitter, half-rotten aftertaste in Alex’s mouth. After rooms filled with people grinding on each other and engaging in almost embarrassingly public displays of –well, affection would be the wrong word – maybe want, possibly arousal, he always feels that much worse when he wakes up in the morning. He thinks it’s an aftertaste kind of thing; like you start hating the taste of chocolate when you let it melt in your mouth for too long and it dissolves into all of its contents, which are usually just sugar and dried milk, along with artificially created cocoa powder. Enjoyment isn’t supposed to last that long, that’s why the aftertaste of fun is always a little bitter.

Alex is not a party pooper by any means; he’s the kind of person to roll around at eleven o’clock sharp, with a pack of cigarettes tucked under his arm and a slight air of intoxication already surrounding him. Quite frankly, he’s the life of the party: he makes out with everyone, he fucks everything that moves; hell, he can do a keg stand for sixty-three seconds on a good day and for forty-three seconds on a bad day. If this were a normal universe, Alex would be singing ‘I Love College’ all day long.

For some reason, however, the stale taste of hangovers paired up with fogged up memories from the night before makes him feel…empty.

Empty, like he’s done something really wrong. A feeling that not even the naked stranger next to him can take away.

There’s one night in particular that seems to change his partying habits forever. He promised to take his sister to one of her ridiculous high school parties and of course, he’s been assigned the task of getting her home on time. He’s the designated driver– their mother’s only condition – and he’s decided to be responsible for once and remain completely sober, if only not to have to face their mother’s wrath. But something about being sober at high school parties makes them so much trashier: There are half-naked sixteen year old girls throwing themselves around like they’re the Pretty Woman herself, and disgusting, puberty-ridden perverts grabbing their butts while they stumble through the crowds. Somehow, he doesn’t miss high school time at all and bitterly thinks that it’s horrible how youth has evolved in the past few years. They’re all shitfaced without even having reached their eighteenth birthday.

Alex keeps longingly staring at the front door, hoping that at some point, his sister will get tired of having half-assed drunk conversations with her geese-friends (Alex always calls them that – he says they sound like geese when they talk, and he insists that they have some kind of visual resemblance also. His sister does not believe him, and calls him an asshole) and being hit on by aforementioned disgusting high school jerks.

It doesn’t seem like he’ll be getting out of there anytime soon, though, so he takes his position leaning against the wall and hoping for better days to come. There’s a red solo cup filled with orange juice balancing between his ring and middle finger while he uses the other ones to light a cigarette that he then sticks into his mouth with sullen emphasis. The second that the hot-red smoke fills his lungs, he feels less aggravated.

“What do you think this douchebag will put on next?” asks an excited voice somewhere to his right. He slowly turns his head while taking the next few drags of his cigarette, only interested because there’s not much else to focus on.

What he sees when he turns is a skinny, lanky kid who is so obviously not older than sixteen, it’s almost painful. The boy looks awkward and wrong in this picture of grinding, dry-fucking seventeen year olds. He appears to be riding on the Fall Out Boy wave too much, with his hair slicked to the side of his face, straightened to death, and a jeans skinnier than a half-starved Victoria’s Secret model.

“I mean, by the looks of it, it’ll be fucking Madonna or something,” he continued. His voice was chippy and bright; such an odd contrast to his black hair and overall emo look.

Alex is still wary, but he tries not to let it show while he watches more smoke fade into the dark air.

“I heard a theory that Madonna died in 1998 and that the person performing her songs is actually a wax figure controlled by a robot,” he says.

Alex arches an eyebrow. “She kinda looks like a wax figure,” he agrees nonetheless.

“And God, the music – how long have you been here for? Did you hear it when he blasted ‘Time of my Life’? Twice?” the kid rants. Alex still doesn’t cut him off; apparently, he’s in a charitable mood tonight. Entertain the poor high school loser, hooray.

Alex thinks that this kid must have a very sad life if he does this; just walking up to strangers and trying to get them to converse with him. Or, he reminds himself, that he might just be friendly. Alex really, really hates high school students.

“I don’t think I did,” he says slowly, dragging out every syllable. The cigarette dying out between his lips makes his skin feel hot and poisoned – just the way he likes it.

“It was ridiculous! But, like, the people at our school are all douchebags, so I’m not exactly surprised, you know,” says the kid.

Alex nods absentmindedly as his eyes drift across the room in search for a more interesting conversation. This is starting to bore him, and he can feel the awkwardness surrounding the kid bleeding into his aura and messing with his positive energy.

“Mind you, I’ve never seen you around there. What school do you go to?” the kid asks.

“Towson University,” Alex replies.

The kid suddenly turns very, very white. “You’re a college student?” he asks. His eyes have grown almost comically white, and if Alex could be bothered, he’d probably laugh.

“No, I go there because of the nice food,” he replies dryly. Which, in turn, only seems to make the kid even more uncomfortable. He seems so freaked out by the fact that Alex is older, like he just said that he’s twenty-seven or something.

Alex starts feeling a little bad and slides down the wall to sit down on the nasty floor without looking down. He pats the spot next to himself, if only to help his guilty conscience, and patiently waits for the kid to sit down. He’s feeling extra charitable.

“What do you think of Troy and Gabriella over there?” he asks.

“Whoa, hey, holy shit,” the kid replies. “He looks like he’s trying to swallow her tongue.”

“Or choke her with his.” Alex grins, and the kid grins back. He can see it from the corner of his eye. He still looks nervous, but somehow, talking seems to loosen him up. Alex decides to be extra-extra-extra charitable tonight.

“It’s, like, been a while since I’ve been to one of these high school parties,” Alex continues, “So is it normal these days? Like, all the sex?”

That seems to be the right question.

“I mean, according to statistics, the sexual revolution started in the sixties with the invention of birth control pills and sexual activity among teenagers has been of a decreasing trend within the last decade so actually, it was worse when you were my age. That is unless you are about sixty, which would either make this a very badly lit place or you’re a very, very good-looking grandpa.” The kid looks ridiculously on-edge and Alex has to refrain from patting his head and saying something along the lines of ‘it’s okay, honey’.

“You talk a lot,” says Alex.

“Yeah,” the kid replies, “I had a couple of vodka bulls and I start rambling when I get nervous.”

Alex laughs, and it almost sounds good-hearted.

“I’m nineteen,” he finally says. “So I’m just good-looking.” He winks at the kid, who blushes in all shades of red in return.

They remain silent for a few moments, but then the kid spots something on the other end of the room. It’s something so disturbing that I’m not even going to try and put into words – let’s just say, there’s a beer bottle, three guys and two girls involved, and one of them is wearing a party hat.

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal in about twenty-one states,” the kid points out.

Alex turns his gaze in the direction that the kid was looking in, and has to take a few more drags of his cigarette to calm his nerves.

“That looks so painful,” he whispers. “How is he doing that?”

They stare at the scene unfolding in front of them for a few minutes, silently asking questions about how this is even possible. Alex shudders and chain-smokes his way through four cigarettes.

“Put down the death stick,” says the kid, “Smoking makes your penis shrivel up and fall off.”

“Is that what they tell you in Junior High Sex Ed?” Alex asks mockingly, taking another drag and blowing the smoke into the kid’s face with a shit-eating grin.

“Shut up, I’m eighteen,” the kid snarls.

Alex laughs out loud at that, embarrassing and braying, but it’s amazing, because no one can hear a thing over the blaring melody of ‘Like a Virgin.’

“Kid, you couldn’t even look eighteen if you weren’t wearing a Blink-182 shirt and eyeliner,” Alex points out. His head is starting to hurt with the nicotine overload, but he can’t bring himself to stop inhaling the poisonous fumes – it’s at least something to keep his hands occupied with. Otherwise, he might just get up and get himself a beer because this party is thoroughly horrendous.

“Alright, I’m sixteen, but still,” the kid emphasises. “And it’s Jack.”

“Wait, there’s jack? Where?”

“My name, you asshole,” the kid says, folding his arms defiantly. Alex brays out another embarrassing snicker.

“Shouldn’t you respect your elders?” he asks.

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

Alex smirks, self-satisfied. “I’m Alex, by the way.”

They fall into yet another bottomless pit of silence. It’s quite nice, actually, that Alex has someone to silently judge all these people with. Everyone just looks so trashy, with gross hair and ridiculous amounts of hormones pumping through the air. Alex sometimes wishes he were that young still, only so he could pretend that everything revolves around him, like he did in junior high. He spots another couple making out against a wall quite disgustingly and opens his mouth to tell Jack about it, but when he does, he feels someone’s lips on his, pressing almost violently.

It’s weird and hot and messy and Alex doesn’t realize that it’s Jack at first. He has to open his eyes and take a few seconds to freak out and look around the room, wide-eyed and panicking, until he recognizes the clumsily smudged eyeliner and lets himself press closer.

For a second, he contemplates pushing Jack off, solely because it feels wrong taking advantage of a minor like that, but very soon, his morals get flushed down an imaginary toilet and he starts kissing back, for some reason.

He’s got to admit, for a sixteen-year old, Jack sure knows how to work his tongue.

They kiss for what feels like something between too long and not long enough, until they’re both out of breath and Jack pulls away, his hands still gripping strands of Alex’s hair where it comes down beside his ears and Alex’s hands still hugging the younger boy’s waist tightly.

“Well, you’re really not fucking around,” Alex says, because he can’t stop himself, and he’s kind of a douchebag.

Jack doesn’t respond, merely presses himself close again. The congealed world around them fades into background noise until not even the horrible sound of ABBA squeaking something about a ‘Dancing Queen’ bother Alex anymore. He lets himself get sucked into this happy place where he feels nothing but Jack’s skin and his lips and okay, this is nice.

Alex forgot what it feels like to be kissing someone who doesn’t pride themselves in having had sex with many people. He forgot what it feels like to be this young again, barely old enough to understand what sex even means and still fresh and happy, looking forward to life so much.

He doesn’t know for how long they continue kissing and exploring each other, but at some point, Alex feels a hand clasp around his wrist like a claw. He thinks it’s impressive that the person holding him even found his hand, considering it’s buried somewhere inside Jack’s sweatshirt where it had been stroking up and down his soft, teenaged-greasy skin.

“Alex,” a voice hisses.

Alex doesn’t respond. He doesn’t want to surface from Jack-land.

But whoever wants to speak to him so urgently apparently isn’t fucking around either. The next second, he feels a glass of water being splashed into both his and Jack’s faces. Alex pulls away, glaring angrily, while Jack just looks confused. Alex has to admit that he’s kind of cute, all wide-eyed and scared, and he immediately pulls the boy closer to his chest.

“What the fuck, Anna?” he asks his sister.

She’s towering above the two of them with arms akimbo. Jack seems to be shaking or something, and Alex gets that weird protective urge again. He’s feeling too charitable tonight.

“We have to go home, Alex, I’m way past my curfew.” Her eyes are bloodshot and Alex can see one or two hickeys adorning her neck. He decides not to ask.

“Jesus Christ Anna, just when I was starting to have fun,” he pouts.

She only glares instead of verbally replying, but it’s enough to know that he shouldn’t pick a fight now.

“Alright,” he says, “Go wait in the car, I’ll be there in five.”

Strangely enough, she walks off without further protest, leaving Alex and Jack still cuddled up against the wall, the disgusting floor beneath them and their bodies entwined like they don’t want anything, not even air, to come between them. It’s messy and heady and Alex has no idea what he’s doing making out with a sixteen year old.

“I need to go now,” says Alex finally. He smiles down at Jack.

“Alright,” Jack replies. He looks sad, his head hanging low and his eyes drooping with tiredness.

“Give me your phone,” Alex demands.

“W-What?” Jack asks, eyes all wide and innocent, but he holds up the phone nonetheless.

Alex merely rolls his eyes and takes it. After punching in his phone number, he presses one last chaste kiss to Jack’s lips.

“I’ll see you around,” he grins.

“So,” Jack speaks up. He clears his throat. “So this wasn’t a…a one-time thing?”

He looks so seriously worried that Alex has to laugh again.

“Not unless you want it to be.”

Jack avidly shakes his head. “I’ll call you soon,” he promises.

“Don’t make me wait, high school boy,” Alex replies with a wink, and then he’s off.

On the ride home, he has to listen to his sister nag on and on about how she’s never going to take him anywhere ever again because he’ll just end up making out with some loser and embarrass her completely in front of the whole school again, and that she’s never going to live this down. But Alex just smiles and drives on.

The next day, there’s no bitter taste in his mouth – it’s just morning breath.